


Under The Advent Of Stars

by GigiDoyle



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Stark Has A Heart, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GigiDoyle/pseuds/GigiDoyle
Summary: Tony opened his eyes.Tony opened his eyes.To say that he was surprised that he wasn’t dead was an understatement, but the warm body lying next to him was an even bigger shock. He physically recoiled at the bleach-blond woman whowasn’t his wifesnoring gently into the pillow next to him, and he didn’t need to see the face to know this stranger’s presence was deeply, horribly wrong.***After the events of Avengers: Endgame, Tony Stark wakes up in 1990 in the body of his 20 year old self. He is not okay with that.
Relationships: Maria Stark & Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 438
Kudos: 1279





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tony Stark has been my life preserver during this dumpster fire year. I've been knocking this fic around in my brain since he died on the field, so I figured I'd finally try and get it out while the rest of the world burns. 
> 
> This story is an exercise in distraction, so please have an additional warning for:  
> ~Additional tags will be added with additional chapters  
> ~Chapters will be posted once a week. Maybe.  
> ~No Beta, We Die Like Men  
> ~OOC nonsense  
> ~Team Iron Man but yay Team Cap, too  
> ~ALL the Angst (but lots of fluff, too)  
> ~A guaranteed Happy Ending

“Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” - Emily Dickinson

***

When Tony died, the flare of pain faded into nothing as the beautiful sight of Pepper grew dark. He couldn’t even close his eyes, only sit there as his vision dimmed. The Kid’s earnest face, wretched and heartbroken next to Pep’s resigned one, broke his heart. His last thought before the world went dark was how much it sucked that he’d miss out on Peter acting as Morgan’s big brother and watching them grow up.

***

Tony opened his eyes.

_Tony opened his eyes._

To say that he was surprised that he wasn’t dead was an understatement, but the warm body lying next to him was an even bigger shock. He physically recoiled at the bleach-blond woman who _wasn’t his wife_ snoring gently into the pillow next to him, and he didn’t need to see the face to know this stranger’s presence was deeply, horribly wrong.

He would have fallen off the mattress if it weren’t a California King. He instead extricated himself from the stranger’s arms wrapped around him and the sheets coiled around his torso and legs, and stumbled to the en suite bath.

He turned on the faucet and tried to calm down enough to get his hands to stop shaking. He didn’t manage it and made a mess of the water he attempted to cup from the sink to splash onto his face.

When he looked into the mirror, he gasped. That wasn’t his face. Or, rather, it used to be, but it was his face from over 30 years ago. What was happening?

No.

The shaking increased and the more he tried to practice Rhodey’s stupid air-force trauma breathing exercises, the worse his breathing got. The more he started to hyperventalate, the darker the edges of his vision became as he sank deeper into the panic attack.

His hands, his clean, young, _unfamiliar_ hands showed none of the scars and burns he was used to seeing. They were unmarked, unlined, without experience.

His life’s work. Erased with too-clean hands.

_No. No. No._

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be real. He was dead. Remembered dying. Felt his final breath.

Was this is some sort of fucked up hell to atone for all of the blood on his hands? His punishment for the weapons and death that all the clean energy initiatives in the world couldn’t wipe away?

Was this his eternal damnation? To lose his wife? His daughter? Peter? Jesus, _Peter_. Tony just got him back and then _died_ , and it was worth it, Peter would always be worth it, but _this_. This was hell. Was he stuck reliving the worst years of his life? And for what purpose? Why?

His spiraling panic continued and he had to sit down on the tile and restart Rhodey's breathing exercise. (“Do or do not,” he could imagine hearing Peter chide. “There is no ‘try’.”)

The coldness of the tile was a lodestone he could focus on.

In for four beats, out for four beats. In for four beats, out for four beats. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

After a few minutes, his hands finally slowed to a manageable, subtle tremble. His breathing had mostly calmed and the tightness in his chest no longer threatened to suffocate him.

He took another deep breath for good measure and opened his eyes and started taking account of his surroundings. He was in New York. He recognized the old (new?) apartment Howard bought for him after completing his first degree. Anything to get him out of the mansion, he remembered with a familiar bitterness that still managed to cut decades later. After he turned 18, it was his primary residence when he wasn’t at MIT.

He didn’t know how old he was supposed to be or what year it was, but he knew Howard and his mother hadn’t been murdered yet. He moved to California nearly immediately after their deaths, so they were definitely still alive.

He took stock of what he knew to be real. The tile below him felt solid and cool. If he focused beyond the blood pounding in his ears, he could hear the honking vehicles of the city streets below. He could smell the stale scent of cigarettes and weed, likely from Baby Him’s previous evening activities.

Most startlingly, since he considered himself an authority of death having done it a handful of times, he could feel his pulse. It beat, rabbit-like at his wrist, steady and strong.

He inhaled another deep breath and finally honed in on to the fact that the deep breath didn’t pull at his sternum or rattle uncomfortably in his too-tight lungs. In fact, he was pain free.

Well, nearly pain free. A monster headache throbbed at his temples, likely leftover from a night of Baby Him’s heavy drinking and casual drug use.He was also hungry.

He considered himself pretty damned good at math, and all of these observations added up to not being dead, however impossible that seemed. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. But he was somehow, miraculously alive and somehow, miraculously in either the late ’80’s or early ’90’s.

It made absolutely no sense — being alive — but however improbable it was, it was true. He had time traveled, or his consciousness had, into the body of his younger self. He didn’t want to entertain what happened to this younger self’s “being,” so he chose to comfort himself with the assumption that his arrival created a branch offshoot of the core reality.

Was that true? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He only knew that he was sitting on the floor of his teenaged self’s apartment in his teenaged self’s body.

A noise from the bedroom startled him from his thoughts. The woman — girl? Jesus, he hoped Baby Tony checked her ID — he left sleeping in his bed at the start of his freakout sounded like she was up. He could hear her rustling around and debated the pros and cons of ignoring her entirely to see if she’d sneak out the front like a good little one night stand.

She didn’t. She knocked on the bathroom and poked her head in, a tentative smile on her face. She looked painfully young, but thankfully, of age. She was probably only a year or so younger than Baby Tony, which was a not the best way to delineate between his current mental self and his past self’s body, but this whole situation was weird, so he worked with what he had.

“You don’t mind if I—,” she trailed off, nodding at the toilet. She looked down at his flaccid dick and smirked, licking her lips.

Tony pointedly did not acknowledge her appraisal and scrambled to his feet. “Yup, go ahead. I’ll just,” and he walked out instead of addressing her further. The sooner she left the better.

Back in the loft’s main studio room, he looked around the chaotic space to try and narrow the year down. Unfinished projects were strewn about the room, a makeshift lab-cum-table in the corner and the generic corpse of a circuit board that was painfully archaic mocked him on the floor.

It was late summer, if the sticky humidity was anything to go by, but not yet August since he hadn’t returned to Cambridge. He rifled through some papers and detritus on his dining table in the hopes of narrowing the date down and ended up finding what he needed.

A rough draft of his first Engineering thesis, a breakdown of the mathematical foundation of DUM-E and J.A.R.V.I.S., _Continuous Chaotic Functions in Electrical and Electronic Circuits and Systems_ was buried under an old — and thankfully empty — pizza box.

So now he knew that it was either June or July in 1990.Over a year before Howard and Maria would be killed. Barely 20 and stupid as anything. He scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned.

He needed a game plan.

He needed underwear.

He threw on an oil-stained pair of jeans and the Headless Cross Tour shirt that was wadded on the floor next to the bed.It was so new that the cotton was rough. The last time he had worn the shirt, shortly before it was tragically lost when Aldrich Killian blew up his house, the Headless Cross decal was mostly faded and the cotton had worn into softest of any shirt he had.

The toilet flushed and Tony looked up as Mystery Girl walked back into the room, proudly naked, and Tony couldn’t look at her. Jailbait had never been his kink. He wanted to grab the sheet and cover her up, so he instead grabbed her dress off the edge of the mattress and tossed it at her.

“Sorry, gorgeous, I have a meeting with my thesis advisor in an hour,” he apologized, trying to sound kind, but feeling too awkward and guilty to hit the mark.

He wasn’t even the one to take her to bed, but he still couldn’t shake the dirty pedo-feelings that induced shudders of disgust up and down his spine. She was probably only a couple of years older than Peter—close enough to have been a classmate of his. Even worse, he was probably older than her father. He cringed at the thought.

It wasn’t her fault that he wasn’t the same person she went to bed with. She was just a sweet, young girl, too eager to please, who deserved far more kindness and consideration than Baby Tony could have given her.

“Are you sure we can’t—,” she started, sounding far too hopeful. She had silently approached him while he was turned and clasped his shoulder to entreat him to turn around. Tony shut her down before she could finish.

“I’m afraid not,” he shrugged, more to shrug off her hand than to feign regret. “But you were perfect and beautiful, and everything I didn’t deserve last night.”

He gave her his press grin and turned again, this time under the pretense of looking for his phone and the cab company’s number tacked on the wall next to it. He wished he had Happy to drive her to wherever she needed to go, so he could at least get rid of her and know she’d be safe.

No one was better at kicking out his night stands out than Pepper, which was no small amount of awkward to unpack at that current moment.

Pepper. His perfect, beautiful goddess.

He jerked his hand down when he realized that he had been subconsciously stroking the place on his chest where the Arc Reactor used to be. It probably looked rigid and unnatural at his side, but he didn't care.

It was too painful to think of her. God, it hurt _so bad_ , so he shut it down and focused on the call to get his “guest” out.

When he hung up, he turned to face her and was relieved to see she was clothed.“10 minutes until your yellow chariot takes you wherever you need to go.”

“Thanks, Tony, you’re such a Baldwin.” He still hadn’t figured out her name yet, but she didn't seem to mind, because she grinned at him while she moved around the bed to gather her purse and shoes.

He reached for his wallet and contemplated handing her a couple $20’s. Would it be too much like prostitution to give her some money for breakfast? She was probably hungry; he knew he was. Would breakfast money make her feel cheap? Did he have any fruit lying around that wasn’t rotton?

He attempted to glance casually into the kitchenette to see, but the fruit bowl that his mother had given him was covered with his thesis research and notes.

She walked over, looped her arm aroun his, and tugged him towards his front door. “Thanks again for the wild night.” He could see the split second of indecision on her face before she decided to go for it and reached up to kiss him. He quickly turned his face so her lips landed on his cheek.

“Anytime,” and fuck, there was no exit strategy where he didn’t end up feeling like a creepy old man, so he opened the door and handed her the folded up bills as he ushered her into the hall.

Her brow furrowed when he handed it too her and he knew instantly that he had misstepped. He Dad’ed her too hard. “For the cab and breakfast,” he attempted to explain. “I’m only sorry that I can’t join you.”

Her face melted into a warm smile and she tucked the bills in her bra. “Thanks, Tony. Until next time.” She winked as she turned and walked away.

“Sounds like a plan!” And oh god, somewhere, Baby Tony’s consciousness lept into an abyss of embarrassment and shame from how uncool he just was. He quickly shut the door and leaned against the wall. He knocked his head against the wall a couple of times, which didn’t help his hangover one iota, but did ease a small measure of frustration.

“Fuck.” Fuck alcohol and drugs. Fuck Baby Tony’s poor life choices that lead to his killer headache. Fuck the 1990’s and their terrible everything. And fuck fuck _fuck_ Thanos for landing him in this hell to begin with.

“ _Fuck_! I need to call Rhodey.”

***


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t call Rhodey.

He was about to, but then he remembered that Second Lieutenant Rhodes didn’t have the appropriate rank to take a call from the lesser Stark in the middle of the Siege of Sarajevo.

_Shit_.

He hated to admit it, but he needed Howard. Or, more accurately, he needed Howard’s lab. Unfortunately, Baby Tony’s relationship with the man was less than ideal. Tony struggled to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why he needed access to equipment that Baby Tony didn’t even know existed to run tests that were outside the scope of Baby Tony’s knowledge.

He dismissed the idea of telling Howard the truth. He had no doubt that Howard would believe him, but any potential conversations that would inevitably crop up from the revelation would be awkward, uncomfortable, annoying, frustrating,…he stopped himself before he fell into his Howard Stark Anger Spiral.

Just because he’d (mostly) made peace with many of his issues surrounding Howard and his A+ parenting, didn’t mean he was…well, okay, no, he definitely hadn’t made peace with Howard, but according to Pep and whatever therapists she was channeling when he finally allowed the discussion, it was okay to not be okay with the 21 years of emotional abuse, bullying, and neglect.

Meeting him as a man in 1970 helped significantly and he had a better toolkit to deal with his feelings these days (Thank you age, perspective, and Morgan and Peter.), but that didn’t mean he was interested or ready to deal with Howard on any other level than the surface antagonism they were both familiar with. So no, he wasn’t going to read Howard in, and bless Pepper for helping to absolve him of his guilt over his choice.

He took another look around his apartment at the sparse equipment he had scattered around. Specifically, his souped-up Apple IIe and the Macintosh Classic, the latter of which wasn’t even supposed to hit the market until October. Neither machine had anything close to the processing power required to crunch the equations he needed to run.

He spent beats trying to come up with a Plan B, or anything that would save him from having to offer himself up to Howard’s scrutiny and bullshit just to run a couple tests. A heavy weight pressed on his chest. Did he really have to do this? Trying the Sanctum and appealing to whatever weirdo was running the show didn’t feel like a real option, so he resigned himself with the fact that he needed to go to the mansion.

To go home.

He poured a couple fingers of scotch that Baby Him hated, but drank anyway because of Daddy Issues — he could admit that to himself now, 35 years later — and knocked the glass back in one long slug. Unlike his younger self, he savored the burn on his tongue and warmth it provided. It was a familiar comfort in an unfamiliar world.

It was time to feed himself to the lions and all the alcohol in the world wouldn’t make it better.

***

As Tony drove to the mansion, he tried not to think too closely at how weird it felt to be driving his old red 89 Z1. He liked the car (especially after he overhauled the terrible engine), but looking back, he had liked how Howard vehemently disliked it even more.

Unfortunately, as an adult, he could see what it was that Howard disliked. It was too flashy to be an inconspicuous everyday car and too cheap looking to be a good flashy car. He should have gone Italian instead of something trying to be Italian. Damned Howard for being right.

He didn’t bother with the front entrance or announcing his arrival, instead going for the door on the side of the mansion’s garage. The dry dirt that he dug through to find the side-door key was warm from the noon sun and already loose from the last time Baby Tony snuck in that way, probably to pilfer the bottle of scotch that he drank before leaving.

The lack of Howard’s Rolls signaled that he was out of the house, but his mom’s '87 Lagonda was there. Jarvis’s sedan was also missing, so he and Ana must have been on one of their many weekend excursions. A small part of him was relieved, because he’d never been able to hide anything from Jarvis.

The closer he got to the door of the main house, the more his stomach knotted up. It had been almost 35 years since he walked into a house with his parents alive and he couldn’t find any emotion inside of him beyond dread.

He wasn’t ready.

He turned the knob anyway and stepped through. The sound of his mother’s piano carried faintly down the hall and he would have assumed it was a B.A.R.F. induced hallucination, but the smell of something wonderful wafted out of the kitchen.

The motes of dust carried on an afternoon sunbeam were far too real for B.A.R.F. and the details of the hallway were too crisp and clear. B.A.R.F. was good, but this was on a whole other level entirely.

It was too much. He loved and loathed it, revisiting this tomb of his past. It was all too much.

The house was as much of a mausoleum as he remembered. He had forgotten the smell, but recognized it as uniquely home the second he walked into the atrium. It was cold, too, as if the looming specter of Howard’s presence alone was enough to drop the temperature a few degrees even as New York sweltered.

He didn’t know where to start and for a maddening minute, he questioned why he came to the mansion at all. Would the equipment in Howard’s lab even help? If he were bleakly honest with himself, he knew that wasn’t why he was standing in the foyer of his childhood home.

It was the same reason he tortured himself with B.A.R.F..

Absolution. Absolution and closure.

He sighed and rallied the strength to move one foot in front of the other. If he thought his nerves would have eased as he walked through the familiar yet foreign halls, he was wrong.

“Signor Antonio! You’re home!” Tony nearly jumped out of his skin at the loud, heavily accented voice. Maddalena, the older woman his mother hired as a cook when he was a child, darted out of the kitchen and into the hallway to greet him. She sandwiched his face between her hands and kissed both of his cheeks like a long lost grandchild returning from war.

Guilt choked him as the warm, matronly woman embraced him. He left Maddalena without a home or employment after his parents’ murder. He was too deep into his grief and substance abuse to think of anything beyond himself and the Fortune 500 company he was nowhere near ready to helm. He vaguely recalled cutting her a sizable check to ensure she wouldn’t have to work for the rest of her life, but it was a cold way to leave a woman who had treated him like a grandson from the very moment she met him.

What was colder still was the way he forgot her. This loyal woman with kind eyes and soft hands and nothing but love in her heart and a snack in her pocket. He forgot about her.

He really needed this Christmas Carol nightmare to end.

This had to be hell; being confronted with mistake after mistake, a life of nothing but fuckups with a Hail Mary at the end. Clearly, it wasn’t enough. Somehow, the God he didn’t believe in found out that he didn’t Snap for the universe, but rather Morgan, Pepper, and Peter alone and was punishing him for it.

And truthfully, maybe he deserved it.

“Your mother will be so happy to see you,” Maddalena said in fast Italian. Tony smiled, wondering not for the first time how Maddalena ended up on his mother’s payroll. He suspected she had a past more colorful than a Mario Puzo character. Howard and Maria always had knack for collecting people with interesting backgrounds.

Tony supposed that was one trait he was happy to have picked up: he had quite an unusual menagerie surrounding him at the end.

“I’m not here to bother her,” Tony answered, the Italian easy and comfortable on his tongue. “I’m just here for some study material,” It felt good to speak it again, and had been more than a couple of years.

“Don’t argue,” Maddalena chastised. “It’s lunchtime and you’re skin and bones. I’m preparing a plate for your mother and will set one out for you as well.”

Tony’s stomach chose that moment to join the conversation, but he clung to his adamant refusal.

“No, please no. I’ll pick something up on my way back to my apartment.”

He had no idea what a casual lunch with his decades dead mother would look like. They weren’t the kind of family to enjoy casual meals at the best of times, so Tony was in no rush to sit at a table and force awkward chatter now. But, with a strength that genuinely surprised him, the smaller woman strong-armed him towards the music room.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. _He wasn’t ready._

As Maddalena stomped down the hall, as loud as a stampede and certainly as determined, he wondered if she could feel him tremble. Maddalena only ceased her march forward once they reached their destination, allowing her employer to finish her song before crossing the threshold.

He looked into the room and struggled to swallow. Struggled to breathe.

There, back rigid with perfect posture over the keys, sat Maria Stark. Her voice more beautiful than he remembered, no recording or memory ever able to do it justice. Her fair hair shone in the midday sun and she was more imposing and radiant than any memory.

She looked towards the entryway where he and Maddalena stood, her face the perfect picture of shock and joy, and she jumped up and raced toward him with her arms open. “Anthony! What a wonderful surprise!”

God, how long had it been since Baby Tony had come by to see her? Knowing him, months. Unforgivable months.

This was so much harder than he thought it would be.

“My Anthony,” she whispered, his name a benediction as she embraced him. Her arms were restorative and unyielding as they wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Her perfume surrounded him, soft and floral, and he wasn’t strong enough for this.

His clearest memory of her was of her death and now she was standing before him, hugging him, warm and real. Why was he never strong enough to get that final, shocking image out of his mind? It wasn’t fair. Not to him and not to the wonderful, vibrant woman in front of him.

“Mammina,” he whispered, not certain he was capable of anything else. He clutched her tighter and buried his face in the nape of her neck, unable to stop the tears he could feel falling.

“Anthony, what—” she started to pull back, but he refused to let go.

“No, just,” he shook his head, not sure how to come back from this. His eyes wouldn’t stop leaking no matter how determined he was to lock it up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

When he finally let go, the high neck of her silk shirt was stained with his tears. Shame flooded him and he should have had a better handle on himself and his emotions.

“Anthony, what—“ she repeated again before he cut her off.

“Don’t worry about it, mom.” He shook his head and physically stepped back, trying to erect a wall with the distance. “It’s just been a long day.”

She was clearly about to protest, but a commotion in the main foyer drew their attention.

“No, I will not exit the property!” a shout sounded through the house. “I need to speak with Tony Stark! Please, it’s important!”

Tony recognized that voice. It shouldn’t technically exist yet.

He took off like a shot down the hall.

***


	3. Chapter 3

Tony nearly slid into the wall from the force of rounding the corner at a full-out run. He managed to adjust his stride just in time to keep from wiping out. When he skidded to a stop, he was terrified and relieved and _so damned happy_ to see Peter Parker arguing with his family’s footman that he was nearly certain his eyes were deceiving him.

“You don’t understand; please, this is an emergency! I only need five minutes of his time. I promise I won’t bother him for longer than that. Just, _please_ , I need to see Tony Stark.” The footman continued to attempt to close the front door, threatening police action, but Peter refused to be shut out. He stood firm and continued to plead his case.

He looked older and taller than when they were last together, which was yesterday from Tony’s perspective. Not by much, though. If he had to guess, he would estimate Peter looked maybe 1 to 2 years older.

He was in plainclothes, which were dirty and torn. His arms and face were littered in healed cuts with blood tracks still remaining, and he suspected there were more that weren’t immediately visible. His hair and skin were caked in a chalky layer of dirt and grime, and he looked like he’d just been through battle. If he didn’t look older and Tony hadn’t seen him in the Iron Spider instead of the ripped skinny jeans and punny tee he wore now, he would have assumed Peter had come from the battle with Thanos, too.

“Pete?”

Peter’s head snapped up and he looked at Tony. His eyes immediately widened, bright and glassy, as though he simultaneously didn’t recognize him and had never been happier to see him in his life.

It wasn’t even a decision to push the footman aside and pull Peter into his arms. The boy clung to him on just this side of too strong, and Tony could feel trembles wracking up and down his body. What had caused this? Who did Tony need to destroy? Because he would. Unquestionably, he would.

“It’s alright, Spiderling, I’m here.” Peter sagged into Tony’s body at the use of his alter-ego’s nickname like the strings that had been holding him up had been cut, and he started to cry. His tears were the quiet, breathless tears of a child who had experienced far too much and was trying to hide his agony and pain but couldn’t stop himself from the bubbling release.

Peter slid to the ground and refused to let go, so Tony moved with him and held him tighter. His breathing was shaky and strained, so Tony used one hand to rub up and down his back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, letting the boy bury his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, a surreal mirror of what he had done with his mother mere minutes earlier.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled, over and over, and Tony had no idea how to deal with that. He buried the hand that wasn’t rubbing circles on Peter’s back in the hair at the nape of his neck and simply held on. He attempted to make soothing shushing noises, but instead of calming, Peter continued to shake and struggle for air.

“Peter, it’s okay. You’re safe now. C’mon, bambino, I need you to breathe with me. In and out, Pete. _C’mon_.”

“I can’t,” he choked through broken breaths. Tony had never seen him so wrecked and it terrified something primal and paternalistic inside of him. He heard what he assumed were his mother’s heels clacking on the marble behind him, but he ignored her and focused solely on the crying teenager in front of him.

“Yes you can. We’re going to breathe in on the count of four. Are you ready?” He inhaled in an exaggerated manner and counted aloud. “One, two, three, four, and out,” he exhaled and counted to four again. He cupped his jaw, forcing him to make eye-contact. Peter’s big brown eyes were even harder to look at than they were on Titan, but he did it, and Peter breathed with him. They breathed in and out together until finally, Peter gained control of his air.

When he shifted back, Peter tried to dry his eyes with dirty hands, leaving ruddy, brown streaks down his cheeks. Tony tried to wipe the grime away with the edge of his t-shirt, but somehow managed to make it worse and smeared the grime around. He couldn’t stop the wince and swallowed the reflexive urge to lick his shirt to better wipe the dirt away.

He still couldn’t believe the kid was alive. Not just in 1990, but literally alive. Warm and real, and not ash-like dust coming apart in his arms. Tony hated the 1990’s, but he couldn’t hate whatever hell had allowed him this.

“Are you with me, kiddo?” Peter finally stopped shaking and hyperventilating, so Tony tried to sound reassuring when he asked, but his voice came out a tentative whisper instead.

“No, I….” He vehemently shook his head as silent tears continued to fall. “Yes, but I c..can’t. They’re all…they’re all dead. I f..failed you. I can’t. _Dad_.” And Tony hated the absolute elation he felt at that word, because Peter probably didn’t even realize he said it, and now was _not the time,_ but his heart soared all the same.

“No, Peter, stop. You didn’t fail me. You never could. _Never ever._ That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop. Not if Peter didn’t know how much Tony loved him. How proud he was of him. He pulled him in for another hug and belatedly realized that _he_ was the one shaking this time. “Kid, you are amazing. I am in awe of you, and so proud. So, so proud. You _have_ to know that.”

And Tony felt so incredibly awkward sitting on the stoop of his parent’s mansion in 1990, hugging Peter as tightly as he could and forcing out stilted words that would never be enough, because he wasn’t _good_ at this. Not even after having Morgan. He would never be up to par with what his children deserved. 

But something awful had happened. Something that must have been on the scale of Thanos, because whatever had Peter in pieces must have been substantial. Peter was one of the strongest people he had ever had met, so if Peter was this messed up, well….

A second sound came hidden from behind them and Tony’s sharply inhaled, because he knew that whimper. Knew it better than he knew himself. He looked up and there, crouched behind a copse of roses, was Morgan.

She was also covered in a chalky layer of dirt and grime, the thick plait of her hair wild and coming undone, the bauble ties she loved missing. The romper she wore was covered in mud and dust, but thankfully untorn. What distressed him the most were the spots he recognized as recent blood stains.

Someone or something had hurt his baby—babies—because really, if Peter was here and whole and hale, then Tony was going to claim him as his, and he was going to burn the universe down down _down_ for this.

He didn’t sacrifice his life for his children to continue to suffer. That wasn’t part of the deal. And it wasn’t that he expected permanent peace, or whatever, but this? _This_? Was unacceptable.

“Morgan, sweetheart, come here, baby girl.” That he couldn’t run to her and scoop her up in his arms physically hurt, but having Peter in his arms was its own special kind of victory, so he beckoned her with a smile and held out his hand.

“Daddy?” Her tiny, unsure voice cracked and Tony struggled to stay calm.

“Come here, Maguna, and join the cuddle pile. You’re brother’s made a mess of my shirt,” Peter squawked and huffed a laugh through a sniffle, which was a significant improvement over the tears, “so it’s only fair that you come and join us.”

He refused to acknowledge how much it killed him that she hesitated until Peter looked back at her and nodded. Logically, he knew that he didn’t look anything like the man she knew as her father. He knew that. Knew that it had probably been close to two years since she had seen him last, but logic had little to do with how it shattered his heart that his own child didn’t know him. Didn’t recognize him.

After seconds that felt like they dragged on for years, Morgan finally raced forward and hugged them both.

He wanted to feel joy at the chance to hug his children again—and he did—but the fear that tightly gripped his chest dampened it. He was too scared and relieved and overwhelmed to process things properly. What nightmarish trauma had his children endured?

_What the hell had happened after he died?_

He pulled them both as closely against him as possible and hugged them tightly, not caring that he was smushing them together. “It’s okay, I’ll fix it. You know me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. I promise, I’ll fix it.”

He hoped it wasn’t a lie, that he’d be able to fix it, but he didn’t know where to start or what to do next.

A car driving past the mansion gate forcibly reminded him where they were, when they were, and that Howard could come home at any minute. He needed to get his children to safety and figure out next steps. He surveyed them each for a moment, triple checking that while dirty, neither appeared to be physically injured beyond minor cuts and bruises.

“Are you okay, Gadget?” Morgan nodded and Tony swept a lock of her chestnut hair behind her ear, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and kissed her forehead.

“I missed you, Daddy,” she whispered. She leapt up and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and hung on for several seconds before she pulled back. He kissed her again and tucked her into his side.

Tony turned to Peter next and gently ruffled his hair. It occurred to him that he’d never done that before, but that he’d always wanted to. The circumstances weren’t ideal, but it was still nice, and Peter’s shining, hopeful eyes made him think that it was okay with him, too, and _God_ , he loved that kid so damned much.

Peter still looked haunted in a way that worried Tony. He failed this boy, failed him in more ways than he could ever count. Peter was stronger than any of them, the best of them all, and seemed to have himself under control in a way that was admirable and heartbreaking when Tony took a moment to unpack why he needed to have such control.

“Are you okay, Underoos?” Peter huffed a laugh, sniffled, and nodded too. And Tony repeated the same gesture, sweeping a few of Peter’s curls to the side and leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

He leaned into the touch and hugged Tony again, squeezing but no longer shaking. “I missed you, Mr. Stark,” he whispered.

And Tony squeezed harder, because, “Me too, kiddo, me too.”

***

“Anthony, what is going on? Who are these children?”

Tony could only imagine what his mother was currently thinking. First Tony bawls all over her in the music room, and then two strange and filthy children show up unannounced and bawl all over him on the front stoop. It was a lot to absorb.

He was about to spout off something snappy and dismissive, but stopped when he caught sight of Peter, who was looking at his mother like he had only just noticed her presence. His expression quickly morphed into shock when Tony assumed he realized that he was looking at _the_ Maria Stark.

Tony would have laughed if the situation weren’t so bizarre. Only Peter would be more shocked by the presence of Maria Stark than the fact that Tony looked 20.

Morgan, on the other hand, had that quiet, assessing look on her face when she was puzzling pieces together. His clever girl would soon surpass even Sherlock Holmes in her ability to deduce information by assessing a scene.

It was time to blow this joint. He stood from his crouch and turned to face his mother, attempting a casual lean against the open door frame while hiding the kids from her direct line of sight at the same time. He had never been able to pull off casually unaffected with his mom, so he shot off the only weapon in his arsenal he had that he knew would distract her. He mimicked Howard.

“Don’t worry about it, Maria.”

Her sharp intake of breath and narrowed eyes indicated he had scored a hit. He hated himself for this, but he didn’t know how else to protect his children from her inevitable interrogations.

“You are not your father—“

“And I thank you for that keen observation,” he parried.

“—so don’t you dare think for one moment that you can pull that line on me—“ his mother continued as though he hadn’t interrupted her.

An insidious thought from the back of his consciousness piped up without his consent, wondering if she ever loved him as much as he loves his kids. He knew she loved him, of course he did, but she wasn’t able to protect him from Howard when he was a kid. No, she left the task to Jarvis to pick up the pieces after Howard’s rage. So if she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that, then how could he trust her to protect his children? He shook the thought from his head. Nope, he wasn’t going down that road now.

“Pete,” he said to try and draw Peter’s attention back to him. It only partially worked, though Tony could hardly blame him. Maria Stark, 1990’s, it was a lot. “I’ve got a place in midtown. We can figure out a plan there.”

“ _Anthony_!” Tony winced at her pleading, concerned tone, but continued to focus solely on his kids. For once in his life, he wasn’t actually trying to be a dick. It was simply vital that they leave before Maria could question them and before Howard got home. “Please, whatever trouble you’re in, let me help you.”

Peter hesitated, looking conflicted and clearly itching to say something, but followed Tony’s lead and nodded. Tony scooped Morgan up, her weight a comforting presence in his arms.

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

And God, Tony could not even begin to guess at what was going through his mother’s mind right now. He watched her as she took in the situation before her, expression both assessing and concerned. Tony dealt with her questioning eyes by ignoring them and refocusing on Morgan, because her voice was small and quiet in a way he never wanted it to be.

His children looked like they had just been through literal hell and he was a terrible father, because if Morgan was hungry, then that meant that Peter was starving. Tony needed to stop worrying about what his mother thought and get his priorities straight.

He swallowed his emotions down, settled her over his hip, and tried for a reassuring smile.

“I can fix that!” he exclaimed teasingly, trying for levity and landing nowhere near it. He winced and looked apologetically at them both. “There’s an Armenian grocery store down the street from my apartment. Great sandwiches for your brother, endless rice for you.”

“Maddalena has already set out lunch in the dining room. It would be nothing for her to add two more settings.” She nodded at the footman, who Tony forgot was even there, before the man quickly ran off to do her bidding. “The children can wash up and change into your old clothes until something more suitable can be procured.”

Tony looked to his mother, guilt warring with regret. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her or didn’t want her to see Morgan and Peter. If anything, seeing her was an unexpected joy. What he didn’t want was to try and explain things to her without debriefing Peter and getting a game plan.

He glanced at Peter, who looked uncertain. The last thing anyone needed was to be exposed to Maria Stark’s subtle questioning, or worse, to _Howard_. So he shook his head, genuinely sad. “I’m sorry, Mom, I _can’t_.” 

Maria pursed her lips, nodded once, and looked at Tony with naked despair. “Okay,” she said softly. Succinctly. And shame washed over him. Shame at his audacity to question her love for him. Of course she loved him. She loved him so much she was letting them leave.

He nodded to Peter, silently entreating him to follow, and strode towards his car in the driveway.

He all but ran away.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony couldn’t stop looking at both of them as he drove back to Midtown. He didn’t even know where to start. His heart was fit to burst at their sudden appearance, despite the troubling nature of how or why they appeared. He was itching to ask them how they came to arrive in 1990, to ask why they looked like they had just escaped a battle zone. He wanted to find out when they came from and most importantly, he wanted to go back with them.

Could he?

Before he woke up on the wrong side of a stranger’s bed, he died. Had Morgan and Peter died too?

He shook his head, as if that could somehow shake the thought away. He refused to entertain it. It couldn’t be possible. Aside from ending up in 1990, nothing about his ‘situation’ seemed similar to what had happened to his kids, not to mention the fact that he was inhabiting Baby Tony and they were still themselves.

His gut told him that the stones sent him here. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. He just knew.

So how did Peter and Morgan end up in 1990? And also, why? What was it about 1990 that brought them here? Was it random? For all three of them? None of it made sense. The three of them meeting on the same day was too precise, which implied intention. Premeditation. And, if there was intention, then that implied someone was behind it. So, if someone was behind it, who? Why?

His thoughts continued to spiral as he drove through familiar New York traffic, and the kids seemed similarly affected. The silence in the car wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t normal, either. Both Peter and Morgan were usually able to fill spaces up with happy chatter, so their silence was unnerving. His probably was, too.

Jesus, what a mess.

“So,” he drew out the word. He needed to table the time-travel train of thought. He and Peter could talk shop later; now it was simply enough to have them by his side. For the first time since the sky opened up over New York, Tony felt like he had time.

“I know we’re all hungry, but we don’t have to go to the Armenian grocery if you two don’t want to. We can go anywhere. I’m happy to get you anything.” Both of them shrugged in response so Tony filled up the silence they couldn’t.

“They’ve got this baklava there that will blow your mind. Best baklava I’ve ever had. It will change your life.”

“What is baklava?” Morgan’s question was hesitant, but curious, and Tony would have kissed her if he wasn’t driving. He grabbed the life preserver for what it was and ran with it.

“Excellent question, Maguna. Baklava is a Middle Eastern dessert with dozens of layers of phyllo dough, butter, spices, honey, and nuts. It’s a little bit crunchy when you bite into it and messy because of all of the layers and honey, but the flavor is sweet and has a similar taste to the spice cookies you like. It’s awesome; you’ll love it. Pete, you ever try it before?”

“Yeah, once.” He shrugged. “It was alright.”

Tony reached out and squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “Well, just wait until you try Avet’s baklava; it will change your mind. He died in 2008, and with him went the only good baklava in New York.”

They lapsed into silence again and Tony didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t believe he just waxed poetic about baklava. Of all the topics to broach, he chose fucking _baklava._ What a stupid thing to try and break the silence with. What would Pepper do? Probably let them process, or something mature and sensible like that.

“Mother fucker!” He slammed on the breaks to avoid hitting a cabbie that cut him off. He laid on the horn and cussed again before remembering that he had an audience. “Don’t you dare repeat those words, my little See ’n Say.”

“Get me two baklava for lunch and we’ll talk.” Peter snorted at her attempted negotiation.

“I don’t think so, Kissenger. One baklava and something green to please your mother.”

“Two baklava and something green.” She folded her arms across her chest and settled forward on her seat, her expression shark-like. She looked more like Pepper in that moment that she ever had before.

“One baklava, something green, and a second baklava that will be set aside for you to eat _tomorrow_ that will be shared with Peter.”

“Done,” she agreed with a satisfied nod. Peter turned to the backseat to give her a high five. Tony hid his smile with his left arm that he had propped up on the open window by looking out at the car next to his.

As if sensing his glance, the driver next to him looked at him without an ounce of recognition, flipped him off, and then sped up and cut him off. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he was flipped off for being a random New Yorker instead of being _Tony Stark._ It was unexpectedly nice.

He felt Peter’s stare as he navigated traffic, so when they were stopped at a red light, he looked away from the road and glanced at him with a raised brow. Peter’s head was tilted to the side and he looked at him with a strange intensity.

“Is something wrong? I mean, beyond the obvious?”

“No,” Peter shook his head and worried his bottom lip. “I just…. I haven’t adjusted to the fact that you look like a movie CGI version of yourself. Like,” A slow smile spread across his face, “a bad rendering of what digital artists think 20-year-old you is supposed to look like.”

“What do you mean, ‘ _a bad rendering’_? This is my real face!” Tony double checked his appearance in the rearview mirror. It looked the same as it did that morning. “Sure, I haven’t looked like this in about 20 years—“

“Cough, _35 years_ , cough cough.”

“A hair over _20 years_ ,” he reemphasized, “but I think I know my own face, Parker.”

“I’m just sayin’. It’s weird.” Peter’s smile brightened, and with it, Tony’s mood. “Is a de-aged Steve Jobs going to show up next?”

“Wo—ow. Steve Jobs?” Tony hissed out, fake-scandalized. “From my own flesh and blood—“

“Not your flesh and blood.”

“—In my own house—“

“We’re in a car.”

“—from my own _son_ —“

“That I’ll allow.”

“—That’s dark, Parker. Steve Jobs didn’t die fighting a genetically enhanced mad Titan. Also, you know better than to mention that intellectual property thief in my presence.”

“Intellectual property thief? He was a _visionary_ , Mr. Stark. A real technological genius whose legacy—“

“So help me god, I will turn this car around. Do not think I won’t. I will leave you in SHIELDRA’s incapable hands if you dare mention that name in my presence again. _How dare._ You should be so lucky to look at this visage of handsome youthfulness.”

“I don’t know, Daddy. I think Petey’s right. You used to look so old.”

“ _Old!_ ” Tony squawked. Thankfully idling at another red light, he turned around to mock glare at her. “I’ll have you know, Miss Stark, that I looked _distinguished_. I was a Very. Important. Businessman.” The more he protested, the more she giggled. Even Peter was laughing, and Tony had scarcely heard anything more wonderful.

“I think you’re confusing yourself for Mommy again.”

“Peter! Tell your sister how distinguished I was when we met. The _most_ distinguished.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark. You wore a wrinkled suit and sported a black eye when we met. I bet Steve Jobs wouldn’t have introduced himself to me looking like that.”

“Traitor! The betrayal!” Tony gasped. _Gasped_. “That was bespoke Tom Ford I was wrinkled in. I’m taking my 12% back. I’m writing a note to myself to be delivered before my untimely demise ordering myself to write you out of my will. What kind of son disrespects his paternal figure so egregiously? Is it too late to exchange you for that little hacker friend of yours? I bet he would show me the respect I deserve.”

“Well,” Peter’s smile could have lit the dark. “If I’m being written out of the will, then now is as good a time as any to tell you that you smell weird, too.”

“Please, keep the compliments coming, kid.” He laughed.

“I’m serious! I’m used to you smelling like fancy cologne and some combination of metal and motor oil?” Tony’s chest tightened bittersweetly at the mention of the cologne Pepper picked out for him. “Now you smell like,” he inhaled and his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Alcohol and weed.”

“And now you know how I spent my twenties.”

“What kind of weeds?” Morgan asked as Tony parked the car behind the Armenian grocery. Tony and Peter shared a significant look: Tony’s promised swift retribution and Peter’s butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“I’ll tell you later, Morgs.”

***

When they got back to Tony’s apartment, he silently acknowledged that maybe they should have stopped by the apartment first before grabbing food. The looks they received as they shopped for lunch and some other groceries were on the extreme side, even for New York.

As Tony and Peter set their bags on the counter, Tony watched his kids take in his apartment. If he would have known his time-traveling children were coming over, he would have tidied. Alas, it definitely looked like the bachelor pad of a 20 year old kid who hadn’t yet learned the value of actual cleanliness beyond ‘good enough to not scare away a one night stand.’

“Alright, kids, welcome to the Four Seasons Hotel New York.” Peter found Tony’s fruit bowl with rotten fruit from underneath the piles of his research and scrunched up his nose. And yeah, he definitely needed to do something about the smell that even he noticed. “As you’ve no doubt observed, housekeeping hasn’t been by to freshen up the room yet.”

He tried to look at the studio from their perspective and admitted that it was a bit spartan. Aside from his bed, dresser, TV, a few tables covered in workshop detritus, and a dining table functioning as a desk instead of a place food could be consumed, the apartment was empty. There wasn’t even art on the walls or the ubiquitous Scarface poster that all young men of a certain age seemed to have in the 90’s.

There was nothing that exuded homeyness or any kind of warmth, and looking at it now after living in a real home with Pepper and Morgan, he didn’t know how Baby Tony could stand it. It was painfully lonely.

He made a mental note to have a couch and some bunk beds delivered. He didn’t know how long they’d be stuck in 1990, but he’d be damned if his children were uncomfortable while they were there. Baby Tony may have rejected the notion of ‘home,’ but he refused to expose his children to Baby Tony’s self-imposed Misery Prison.

“Pete, I’m going to fill the tub for your sister — give me a moment and I’ll clean off the dining table.”

Peternodded as he poked his head in the fridge. “Is that….” He promptly gagged and shut it as quickly as he opened it. “Mr. Stark, why do you have a bottle of glutaraldehyde next to a quart of milk that’s a month past the expiration date?”

“Daddy, Mommy says that dangerous things aren’t allowed outside the workshop.”

“And she’s right.” Tony winced. “Which is why I’m going to clean it out before anything edible is placed in there.”

“Go take care of Morgan; I’ll empty out the fridge. There’s not much in there aside from some toxic chemicals, expired takeout, and a case of PBR—”

“Those are Rhodey’s,” he quickly interrupted.

Peter leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Sure Jan.”

They actually were. Tony couldn’t stand the weak, piss-water taste and had no idea how Rhodey tolerated them, but he didn’t feel the need to explain to Peter that Baby Tony went straight for the hard stuff because it fucked him up faster.

“Is there, uh, anything non-alcoholic in there you two can drink?”

Peter opened the fridge again, made a confused noise, then held up a half-drank bottle of Pedialyte. He looked at the bottle again and furrowed his brow. It would have been adorable if Tony weren’t so annoyed with Baby Tony.

“Mr. Stark, why do you have a half-drank bottle of Pedialyte in your fridge?”

“ _Jesus_ ,” he muttered, too embarrassed to care if Peter heard him. He should have known better than to forget getting something to drink at the Armenian grocery. “Science experiment,” he lied. He dug a couple $20’s out of his pocket, wadded them up, and chucked them at Peter. “Run down to the bodega on the corner and grab some milk, soda, whatever you want. I’m just going to….” He lead Morgan to the bathroom and walked away from Peter’s youthful innocence.

***

“Daddy, I’m almost 6. I don’t need help in the bath anymore.” The question about her age somewhat answered, he had to swallow down the punch of anger he felt at missing so much time with her.

“Okay, princess, but at least let me help you with the faucet. This one is more troublesome than the one we have at home, okay?” She nodded.

He fiddled with the tub knobs until the water coming out was warm without being hot and then plugged the tub to allow it to fill. He turned his focus to her and took in as many details as possible. She was wearing a romper fashioned to look like a mechanic’s coveralls, but smaller and cute. Tiny embroidered flowers were stitched into the collar and pocket covers. There was no doubt in his mind that Pepper had the outfit made specifically for her; the tailoring was too perfect.

The faded oil and grease stains warmed his heart and indicated that his baby girl loved the workshop as much as he did. There were even a couple welding burn marks, and he hoped that Peter had been in the workshop with her, showing her how to be safe when building something.

He looked at the dirt and grime that covered her clothes and painted her skin. The dust and detritus looked like cement instead of earth. Tiny chunks of rock and what he hoped wasn’t crumbled buildings seemed embedded in her braid and fringe, and the fabric of her romper was scuffed and torn in a few spots that didn’t look related to regular wear and tear.

The blood splatter pattern on her sleeves looked like it came from someone else instead of a stain from a cut, but that worried him in an entirely different way. She had obviously been next to someone injured, and anxiety simmered over what his poor girl had witnessed. He didn’t dare ask her. Not yet. Instead, he kissed her forehead and turned her around to try and work some of the tangles out of her braid.

He carefully — so very carefully as to not tug — worked out as many snarls and chunks of grime that he could. Her hair was longer than he remembered, and the dirt seemed to be embedded around every single tress. He slowly worked his brush through the long strands until he finally felt confident that shampoo and conditioner would be able to clean the rest.

When he turned her back around to face him, her cheeks were wet with tears.

“Baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Why didn’t you tell me I was hurting you?” He pulled her close and hugged her. She started trembling, and it was the stoop of his parents’ manor all over again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shook her head, and he knew he must have hurt her terribly if she couldn’t even find the words to reprimand him. He knew she had a sensitive scalp, but he thought he had been gentle.

Her answering voice was so small, he nearly didn’t hear it over the roar of the tub’s faucet, but hear her he did. “Why did you leave me?”

_Why did you leave me?_

Not even Steve Rogers could hit him that hard.

The bathroom was blurry and guilt was so thick in his stomach, he nearly threw up. “I didn’t want to,” he pleaded. He couldn’t breathe. “ _I didn’t want to._ ”

He couldn’t even promise her that he wouldn’t leave again, because he was _dead_ and she wasn’t. He had nothing left in the universe except her and Peter, and he knew someday soon he’dlose them again when he fixed whatever brought them here.

He didn’t dare fathom what was in store for him after he lost them again. He couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back over her dirty romper, trying to soothe her, but not sure how. The surging fear of being a terrible father once again choking and inescapable. “I’m so so sorry.” 

The only thing he could do was hold her. He squeezed so tightly she’d be able to feel it in her bones. That way, the next time he left her, maybe she’d remember this. Remember the time he held her so hard, she felt his love for her in every atom.

The loud splash of water hitting tile brought him back to the present and he looked up to see water cresting the tub’s edge. “Shit!” He turned the faucet off and stuck his arm in the water to release the plug, the added volume causing water to cascade over the side.

Baby Tony didn’t have the dozens of towels Pepper constantly kept on hand, so he he couldn’t even sop up the water without sacrificing the only clean ones available for Peter and Morgan.

When the water reached an acceptable height in the tub, he replugged it. He quickly lifted Morgan to the sink counter and darted into the main room to pull the sheets off of his bed. He needed to clean the water up before it caused any damage to the unit below.

“Don’t ask,” he snapped at Peter’s questioning glance as he ripped the sheets off of his mattress as quickly as possible and ran back into the bathroom. He threw them on the ground around the tub and thanked his pure dumb luck that the sheets’ fabric was surprisingly effective at wicking the moisture off the floor.

When the danger of his downstairs neighbors suing him had passed, he sat back on his heels and surveyed the room. The spill was less dramatic than he initially feared, and aside from the rug being a drenched write-off, he hadn’t even dirtied the towels. Once the water soaked into the sheets, it was like the spill never happened, but Tony still somehow felt like he had been through a flood of biblical proportions, adrift in shoreless seas.

He looked up at Morgan, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. Her expressions had never been unreadable to him before and the urge to crawl into the bottom of a bottle was overwhelming. He needed to get some air.

He stood up and gently placed her on the ground, making sure to keep his breathing even and slow. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? I can help you wash your hair.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

Of course she didn’t his need help. He left her. He loved her with every fibre of his being, and in the end, well, even Howard hadn’t fucked up that badly.

Tony shoved it all down, pasted on a smile, and nodded. “Alright, kiddo, get your Esther Williams on. All of the towels are clean and I’ll be right outside if you need me. Just let me know.”

He grabbed the soaking sheets from the floor and beat a hasty retreat, shutting the door behind him.

***


	5. Chapter 5

Peter was loading up an empty grocery bag with the fridge’s contents when Tony reentered the main room. He took one look at him and quickly walked over to pluck the sopping sheets from his arms and drag him to the lone chair at the table-cum-desk that had been cleared while he was in the bathroom. His thesis draft and research notes were in two organized piles and the rest of the table had been cleared of the junk and trash. His mom’s fruit bowl now overflowed with fresh fruit, the rotten ones nowhere in sight.

“Peter, you didn’t need to—“

“Sit down.” He pushed the Manti Tony got at the grocery store closer, the message clear. “Knowing you, you haven’t eaten in a day.” Tony couldn’t stop the small upward tilt of his lips, because Peter wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t eaten since before facing Thanos. Still, after what Morgan said, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to eat now.

Peter opened the closet door next to his (empty) pantry, revealing a washer and dryer. He had forgotten he even had them. Not that he’d ever tell Peter, but Baby Tony…and Adult Tony…used a laundry service. He could count on one hand the number of loads he’d done in his life (with fingers leftover).

“Don’t worry about the those; I’ll buy another set,” Tony said at the same time Peter rushed out, “It’s not your fault.” Peter’s words were muffled over the crushing noise of the water filling the washing machine and him shoving the sheets into said machine, dumping a liberal amount of Tide on top of them.

“What do you mean ‘buy another set’?! That’s insane. They’re wet, not ruined.” Baffled, Peter shook his head, his face the perfect moue of disgust. “Crazy rich people,” he mumbled.

“Peter.” He could feel the beginning pierce of a headache behind his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to try and stem the pain. He didn’t know where to start or what to say. Not about the sheets, although it was always a delight when Peter’s brain seemed to multi-task in the same way his did. 

While trying to ignore the uncomfortable guilt churning in his stomach from Morgan and Peter’s… _everything_ , his brain bounced back between wondering where the laundry detergent came from and how the sheets needed to be burned instead of washed, because no amount of washing could cleanse them. Baby Tony’s escapades with Mystery Girl had seen to that. He shuddered, the thought of having to sleep on them again repellent.

“She’s 5, Mr. Stark. She doesn’t…. It’s not your fault you died any more than it was my fault that I got Snapped.”

And Tony wished he could feign ignorance, wished Peter hadn’t heard that horrible conversation on the bathroom floor. He had hoped it was too soft and the water too loud, because he didn’t want Peter to _know_. Of course it was his fault.

“I had a hard time understanding at that age, too.” Peter trailed off and pressed his lips in a firm line, and Tony saw shades of the man Peter was becoming. The stubborn set of his jaw and determination to make his point made Tony feel like he was in a slow-motion train wreck. 

Peter started again, seeming to find is words, and Tony wondered how they got so horribly off track. He was supposed to be the one comforting Peter over whatever trauma he and Morgan experienced before 1990, not the other way around because of his sudden penchant for absentee parenting.

“May and Ben were great; they did everything they could to try and help me understand what death meant. They explained that my parents weren’t ever coming back, but I was 4—the same age as Morg, when you….” He cleared his throat. “Like, how do you understand the concept forever when you’re 4? How does a 4-year-old wrap their mind around something so immense? Death and grief are hard to grasp as an adult, let alone as a kid.”

“ _You’re_ a kid.” But that wasn’t quite true and he knew that wasn’t the point Peter was, unfortunately, successfully making. He sighed. “It’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t need to try and,“ he made a lazy circle in the air with his hand to finish his trailed off sentence, not able to say the actual words.

“I do, Mr. Stark,” and even Rogers couldn’t hold a candle to the earnestness in Peter’s expression, the sad and rueful look on his face holding him hostage. “I missed you. We both did.”

There was a prickling sensation behind his eyes and Tony quickly looked down before he did something embarrassing like _cry_ in front of the kid. He took a deep breath, locked it up, and looked Peter straight in the eye. “I missed you, too.”

“ _No,_ ” he exclaimed, and somehow Tony’s response seemed to distress him. “I mean, I know you did. But I _missed you,_ Mr. Stark. After you,” he swallowed and sighed, and Tony didn’t know how he could break both of his kids so thoroughly in the span of an hour.

“I got your message. The one you sent me through Karen. It,” Peter looked away and Tony suddenly recalled the message he was talking about.

Five years was a long time for reflection, and if he didn’t make it and Peter did, Tony wanted the kid to know how much he meant to him. That it took Morgan being born for him to realize what he felt for Peter was love and not just fond feelings for a reckless teenaged mentee who dressed in a onesie when he wasn’t busy being a kind and all-around amazing baby genius.

“I didn’t want your money or your legacy, Mr. Stark. I just wanted you.”

“I’m sorry—“

“No, that’s not what I, no. No. Don’t be sorry. That’s not what I’m trying to say. What I mean is that you shouldn’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. Thanos, Morgan, _me_. It’s not your fault. And I know I’m not your real kid, but I—“

“ _Stop!_ Stop right there.” Tony couldn’t sit and listen to another word of that nonsense, so he stood up and quickly moved to hug the kid, as if the hug could smother his ridiculous words. “Of course you are. _Of course you are._ You don’t need my blood to be my kid. Peter, without you I wouldn’t have Morgan. Couldn’t have Morgan. You are…of course you’re my real kid. I left you part of the company, didn’t I? I left it to both of my kids. Only if you both want it, of course.

“Obviously you can do whatever you want when you grow up. I just wanted you to have the choice. To know that you are my kid as much as Morgan is. I know I didn’t exactly broadcast that before Titan, but I thought that, well, I kind of hoped that you, I mean, obviously I’m not your real dad or uncle, but I—”

“Of course you are. _Of course you are,_ ” Peter echoed. “I love you, too.”

For one perfect minute, Tony allowed himself the luxury of basking in Peter’s affection, believed Peter’s words like maybe they were true. He hugged Tony like _he_ was the marvel, not the other way around. Perfect Peter Parker: Tony didn’t know what he did to deserve having a kid like that in his life, but he was grateful for whatever it was.

Still, Morgan’s question tugged at his soul and worried him. He knew Peter understood, hoped he did, anyway, “I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Obviously.” Peter said it simply and easily, like abandoning Pepper and his children wasn’t the heaviest weight pressing down on his soul. “I didn’t want to leave you either.”

Tony snorted, mostly in astonished disbelief, because maybe it really was that easy. And, because he trusted Peter not to lie to him about something like this.

“Still, I can’t believe I got you back in 1990 of all places. It’s so strange.”

“Yeah, Strange.” Peter’s face momentarily darkened and Tony heard the homonym.

“The _wizard_ sent you here? _Why_? To keep you safe? Nothing about 1990 seems safer than—when were you sent from?”

“Christmas.” C _hristmas!?_ Was the universe trying to rub salt into an open, festering wound?

“2024?” Peter nodded, which meant the universe imploded again just over a year and a half after he died. “S _hit_.”

“Yup.” His flip, dismissive tone reminded Tony of the avoidance coping mechanisms he himself often utilized, and it broke his heart. The kid couldn’t even drink yet, and he had already been through more horrors than most experience in an entire lifetime. There wasn’t enough therapy in the world to turn that level of trauma to rights.

“I think he knew that you’d be here,” Peter added. “He said something that didn’t really register at the time, but thinking back, he definitely knew. He said something about the multiverse and tying up loose ends, and honestly, I wasn’t paying super close attention because a building next to us had just exploded and Morgan, well. I grabbed Morgan and ran. He opened the portal right as I leapt off a building, so I had no way to avoid it.”

“What the—.” Tony frowned and pointedly did not address the _exploding building_. “I can’t stand that guy. Not, obviously, for dropping you on my doorstep. Literally, in this case. But his execution leaves a lot to be desired.”

Though maybe it didn’t. Because Peter and Morgan were alive — he knew that now, and the relief he felt at that fact was probably palpable.

Peter’s head snapped up to the en suite door and Tony knew that Morgan would be back in any moment.

“Will you tell me what happened after she falls asleep?”

“Yeah, I was planning on waiting until after she fell asleep, too.” A soft smile crossed his face. “She’d find some way to sneak herself into the conversation, otherwise. She’s too nosy.”

Tony’s heart soared. He knew Peter would be the best older brother to his girl. “Thank you for keeping her safe. I don’t have to know what happened to know that she’s safe right now because of you.”

He blushed, shrugged, and looked down. Tony reached out to squeeze his shoulder right as Morgan came back into the main room. “Go get yourself cleaned up, Underoos. I set a clean pair of clothes next to a towel that should fit you reasonably well. We’ll get you something better later this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. Oh, by the way,” Peter’s grin turned Cheshire and he rifled in his jeans pocket before pulling out a black scrap of fabric. “I found this lying on top of your thesis when I cleared off the table.” While walking backwards towards the bathroom, Peter used his finger to slingshot the fabric to Tony, hitting him in the chest. He caught the scrap before it could fall to the ground and unfurled it.

“What is — _Oh my god._ ” Horrified, Tony quickly shoved Mystery Girl’s tiny black thong in the garbage as close to the bottom of the bag as he could without breaking it before Morgan could see them. “You’re my least favorite son!” Tony shouted as Peter’s laughter followed him out of the room.

“I’m your only son,” he shouted back, his head playfully poking around the doorway, smile bright enough to light the sky, before he shut himself in the bathroom.

And yeah, he was.

***

Later that afternoon, Tony dug through the phonebook — the fucking _phonebook, and his kingdom for the fucking Internet_ — to find a furniture company that would deliver a set of bunk beds and a sofa to his loft without him having to pick anything out in person.

Morgan and Peter were sitting on his freshly made bed quietly watching The Wizard of Oz and Tony’s mind flashed to Rogers. He wondered what had happened to him after the battle and if he ever found peace. He was indifferent on whether he hoped if Rogers had or hadn’t, which was personal growth, all things considered.

He’d have to ask Peter later.

A brisk knock on his front door startled him mid-dial. He quietly set the receiver back down and gave Peter an urgent look. Peter understood him perfectly, because he plucked Morgan off of the mattress and settled her on his hip, held his index finger over his lips, and silently carried her into the bathroom.

Tony’s heart pounded and he crept as lightly as possible, trying to dodge floorboards that he remembered creaked, to the door. Rhodey was in Bosnia, and outside of the bars and clubs where he purchased his “friends,” his social circle was on par with Tesla’s. DUM-E, U, and Butterfingers were basically his pigeons.

He had no idea who would or could knock on his door without buzzing into the building, so he was more relieved than he cared to admit at the site of his mother through the peephole. He opened the door, though not enough to let her enter.

“Jesus, Mom, I have a phone.”

“A phone that we both know you don’t answer.”

Unfortunately accurate, as he had ignored 3 calls a couple of hours earlier before ultimately pulling the cord from the wall.

Maria Stark glided into the apartment like he wasn’t even a shadow of an obstacle, a large wicker picnic basket hanging from her arm that he hadn’t seen since he was 10. Tony rolled his eyes.

“I know how to keep two kids fed and watered.” He couldn’t resist the dramatic sigh and lifted the surprisingly heavy basket from her arm. “You didn’t need to make the trek to Midtown. Besides, I’m sure Howard will be missing you.”

“Don’t start.” She leveled him with a scathing look. “You’ll forgive me for being skeptical. You can’t even keep yourself fed and watered.” Tony said a quick prayer that she wasn’t there earlier to witness the sad contents of his fridge, thus proving her point. He set the basket on the dining table and resisted the urge to peek under the lid.

“Well?” Maria looked around his lackluster apartment and pursed her lips. She gave a pointed, unimpressed look at the closed bathroom door. “Where are they?”

He sighed. “It’s okay, Peter,” he said loudly for her benefit instead of Peter’s. “Olly olly oxen free.”

Several seconds passed, Maria arching her perfectly manicured brow in the ensuing silence, before the en suite door slowly opened. They both shuffled out, Morgan carefully behind Peter as they moved. He wasn’t sure if that was due to a bout of shyness from Morgan or if Peter was getting his Big Brother on. Either way, he was glad for it.

Once in the main room, both kids stood like they weren’t sure where to stand or what to do. Peter’s anxious expression silently pleaded to Tony for guidance on what to do next, while Morgan examined his mother with curious, innocent eyes.

It was all awkward as hell, and while Tony was grateful to see his Mom again — he still couldn’t look at her without catching himself staring a beat too long to be normal for Baby Tony — he suppressed an errant pulse of anger at her for not letting him keep his children safe on his own terms.

Maria looked at them from across the room. Her poker face was masterful, but Tony could see her curiosity sneaking through. After several moments of silent examinations from both parties, Tony couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Mom,” he started.

“Hush, Anthony,” She said, dismissing him. She took a small step forward, her hands open in careful greeting, and smiled. “Children, if my hunch is correct, then I suspect I’m your grandmother.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Tony said her name like it was an expletive. He looked heavenward and prayed for Thor’s lightning to strike him down. Let it never be said that he got his genius solely from his father. Maria Stark was a force to be reckoned with.

“Um,” Peter looked at Tony, panic writ across his face at the same time Morgan cheerfully stepped forward from behind Peter’s leg and exclaimed, “It’s nice to meet you! Daddy said we wouldn’t ever get the chance because you were gone, but I heard Mommy andSgt. Barnes talking on the porch one night when I was supposed to be asleep about how you were murdered by the Winter Soldier.”

“Morgan!” Peter hissed at the same time Tony shouted “Mugged!” Peter, closer and faster than Tony, clapped his hand over her mouth before she could say anything further.

“She meant mugged. Mugged by a thief that stole Howard’s wallet and Nonna’s pearls.” Maria, wearing said pearls, quickly touched them before clasping her hands in front of her. A single beat was all it took for Maria Stark, patrician virtuoso, to process before she straightened and smiled warmly.

“What a shame. I love these pearls.”

Tony knew she knew. He wished he could unring that bell, but aside from a slight widening of her eyes, Maria appeared to take the news of her impending murder in stride. If he weren’t horrified, he would have been in awe. He could compartmentalize with the best of them, but even he couldn’t keep his chill the way she appeared to.

“Really, Dad?” And Tony knew he was only saying it for the benefit of his mother, but his heart still skipped a beat when Peter called him his dad. “Stolen pearls?” He made a playful show of dramatically rolling his eyes. “You’re not Bruce Wayne.”

Tony didn’t recognize the woman who laughed at Peter’s quip and added, “I do see the similarities.”

“What! How do you even know who Bruce Wayne is?”

“Your father took me to see his movie last summer.” Maria’s smile was small and private, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder what the real story was behind the alleged date-night movie. “Afterwards, I had to talk him out of making the Bentley spit flames out of the exhaust.”

“ _What_.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. He couldn’t even process that information. He couldn’t imagine his father ever seeing a movie, let alone one about super heroes. Objectively, he knew his father had a spell in the late 40’s when he fancied himself a Hollywood director, but as far as Tony was concerned, that may as well have happened to a different person entirely.

Peter, however, looked enthralled with that tidbit of information. “I love that movie! Dad has a Bat Mobile.”

Tony sputtered. “No I don’t!” He looked at Peter, feigning betrayal.

“Daddy has a Bat Mobile?” Tony was too busy processing the fact that Morgan knew who Batman was, likely exposed to him by Peter, to feel embarrassed. He hoped that Peter showed her the sanitized version. Was there a sanitized version? Tony shook his head.

“Pepper keeps it in the garage at tower,” Peter answered her. Morgan nodded like that somehow made sense to her and Tony resigned himself to losing control of the conversation.

“Dad painted a mint Shelby Cobra black and mounted flames on the back of it,” he added for Maria’s benefit.

“The Shelby isn’t an homage to some random comics character. It’s an aesthetic choice that only people with a PhD in engineering are able to appreciate and understand.”

“You literally refer to it as the Bat Mobile and claimed it’s cooler because it’s street legal,” Peter responded, unimpressed. “You’ve even picked me up from school in it a few times.”

“Your friend Ned thought it was cool,” he sniffed.

Peter rolled his eyes again, but smiled. “You could have shown up in a Pinto and Ned would have thought it was cool.”

“And burst into flames when some Uber driver rear ended us? I think not.” He scoffed. “At least the Bat Mobile has a five-star safety rating.”

“Howard would love that. If he knew you made one, he’d mount flames on the Bentley tomorrow.” Tony swallowed down the reflexive impulse to make a smart comment that Howard could ‘mount his flames’ in Hell and instead attempted to smile.

“Well, it’s a good thing he doesn’t know, then.” Maria slid her eyes over to him like she heard what he didn’t say.

And this was really happening. His dead mother, his time-traveling children, and his 20-year-old zombie self were really all standing awkwardly in the middle of his loft, making stilted, polite conversation. He was half tempted to offer his mother some Pedialyte in a mocking show of being a good host. He supposed he should have offered her the one chair in his apartment, but he didn’t actually want her to stay.

“You mentioned Anthony picks you up from school?”

Peter nodded and smiled. “When his butler doesn’t.”

Tony suppressed a questioning frown, because unless major things had changed since he died, Happy definitely didn’t drive him daily. But whatever.He wouldn’t begrudge the kid trying to make him look better in front of his mother. He also noted Peter’s use of present tense, so he mentally shrugged and rolled with it.

“Oh please, please let me watch you call Happy that to his face.” Peter’s grin turned sheepish and he seemed to shrink in on himself a little bit. Tony found the retreat hilarious, because Happy was a giant softy when it came to the kid. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” To his mother, he said, “Happy isn’t a butler, he’s my head of security.”

“Asset management,” Peter mumbled.

“Precisely. You are my asset, and it is his job to manage you.”

“Normal parents don’t refer to their kids as assets.”

“Normal parents don’t receive calls at 2am from Karen saying their kid is in trouble and needs an evac.” Peter grumbled, but shrugged, which meant Tony was right. It wasn’t like they could mention Spider-Man, and really, Tony could have done with fewer late-night adventures.

Maria looked alarmingly delighted by their exchange. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, when a loud buzz announced someone was trying to request access to the building.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’ll be the delivery team. I arranged for some furniture to be dropped off.”

Tony wanted to make a quip about crossing several lines, but really, he was grateful he didn’t have to do it himself. When he was 20 originally, his mother dropped several anvil-shaped hints that she wanted to decorate his apartment into something “suitable,” and he never allowed it. He was somewhat curious to see what she had in store for them.

Fifteen minutes and the most efficient delivery team Tony had ever seen later had his loft newly equipped with a garish French-style sofa, an opulent round oak dining table with four French empire chairs, and a tasteful set of bunk beds for the kids.

The furniture looked like Maria sourced it from Versailles rather than whatever shop she had on retainer for the mansion. Pepper would have hated the pieces, and though it all clashed horribly with what was already in the loft, Tony didn’t hate how the added furniture turned the derelict fuck-pad look into something more appropriate for children.

The gaudy French theme was ridiculous, and no doubt intentionally chosen to mock him. Damn his mother’s sense of humor; it was absolutely something he would have done himself, were he in her position—a realization that brought him a surprising amount of joy.

He took a long moment to look at his mother, who was looking at the room and everyone in it with a soft smile on her face. She seemed to enjoy Morgan and Peter, but he couldn’t guess at what she was really thinking. She was likely trying to figure them all out, but doing it so subtly that the kids didn’t realize she was assessing them. He did, though.

Garry Kasparov would have lost a long game against Maria Stark.

A wild voice in the back of his mind rooted for him to allow her to continue her line of gentle, manipulative questioning. What seemed abhorrent earlier wasn’t quit so threatening now. Away from the mansion it was…easier to tolerate her temperate inquisition and pointed comments.

If he didn’t have to stay on his guard, he would have almost enjoyed watching her puzzle his children out.

Another brisk knock at his door had Tony shooting a narrowed look at his mother. She returned the look, the perfect picture of nonchalance.

“Well, Anthony? Don’t be rude.”

Several bags of hot food were dropped into his arms when he opened the door. Maria had arranged for Lutèce to be delivered immediately after the furniture, a move so heavy-handed he had to give her credit.

Creamy French food that he couldn’t stand presented as a meal that would have been horribly rude to not share with her, terrible French furniture she knew he’d hate, and all delivered so subtly that the kids would never pick up on it. She was clearly more upset with his earlier departure from the mansion than he realized.

It also meant she knew he wasn’t her son. Baby Tony would have flown off the handle at the sight of the gaudy furniture. Instead, he was grateful for the hideous monstrosities.

_Damnit_. Checkmate to Maria Stark.

He carried the bags of food to the new dining table. Maria rifled through his cupboards snooping and looking for plates and silverware. She was about to be sorely disappointed, because he only had two sets: one for him and one for Rhodey.

He smiled at the disappointed noise she made when she realized she’d have to use the plastic disposable plates and utensils that he used when he was too lazy to wait for the cleaning service or wash the dishes himself.

While Maria searched for tableware, Tony opened the main containers to reveal two with béchamel sauce—one with something he assumed was sole and the other veal. Thanks to her vindictive streak, he knew one of them was intended for him.

The other two contained loup en croûte, and a mignon de boeuf that actually looked decent. She also, apparently, ordered every side on the menu, including an onion tart that he remembered fondly.

Tony had no idea how he was supposed to distribute the food. He couldn’t stand heavy cream and béchamel sauces, and knew that Morgan wasn’t fond of them either, unless that had changed in the last year and a half. His mother disliked them, too.

He mentally sighed and grabbed the container he assumed Peter wouldn’t like. They didn’t eat out at fancy places often, but he remembered Peter liking the filet mignon. 

“Daddy, I don’t like bay-she-mall sauce,” Morgan whispered, looking hesitantly at the selection.

“Béchamel,” he gently corrected.

“Bé-cha-mel,” she repeated carefully, smiling at him. He couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s okay, Maguna, you’ll like this one,” he said, setting the loup en croûte — his mother’s favorite — in front of her. “Pete, you’ll like the beef, but please take whichever one you want.”

“You can have filet, dad. You know I don’t mind the béchamel.” Tony didn’t know that, actually, but was grateful to hear it.

“Thanks, kid. Fish or veal?”

Peter looked adorably out-of-his-depth and gave Tony a look that entreated help. They were both disgusting to him, but he thought Peter would like the texture of the fish more. He also recalled him liking sautéed mushrooms and pointed at the sole.

Peter’s grin was wide and happy, and Tony couldn’t resist the urge to ruffle his hair, which was silky and soft now that it was freshly washed. Tony sat in the chair between his two kids, and nodded at his mother when she sat down across from him. She passed out the tableware, looking nearly ready to apologize to Peter and Morgan for the chintzy plastic on his behalf, but managed to keep her comments to herself.

“Mom, do you want the medallions or the veal?” he asked, knowing full-well she wanted the filet.

“The veal is fine, Anthony.” Her apology evident, he found himself willing to fall on the béchamel sword. The smile he gave her when he handed her the medallions was genuine, and took the veal for himself.

She was trying, in her own unique way. As a parent himself, he appreciated the effort more than he would have when he was 20. Maria Stark was human and she was trying and he was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful for her presence.

They all sat down, their horribly expensive food transferred to 5¢ plates at Maria’s behest, and Tony wasn’t disappointed to find himself sitting down for a family meal with his decades dead mother after all.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly amused to find this in [The Times](https://www.nytimes.com/2020/11/04/magazine/this-french-onion-tart-is-a-straight-up-classic.html?referringSource=articleShare) the day after I wrote it into my fic. #Timing


	6. Maria Stark Interlude

Maria looked at the man sitting across from her. Though he had the face of her son, he wasn’t. His countenance was markedly different and there was something indefinably settled about him.

And sad. Something heartbreaking and sad. Every look he cast at the children, every touch, held sorrow and carried weight.

He was a stranger to the boy she saw two months ago, but she recognized him. Would always recognize him. What happened to this man who wore her son’s face? And more importantly, what had happened to her son? The one who really was 20? From the moment this golem walked into the music room, she knew something was different, wasn’t right.

It was strange and surreal to look at him. The set of his shoulders was confident and sure, like he had finally grown into his role, into himself. Not his father’s son, but his own man, and it was all she had ever wanted for him. To step out of the looming shadow Howard cast and find his own path.

She couldn’t put her finger on why, but she knew with a bone deep certainty that he had surpassed his father. The way he engaged with his children — his children! — held none of the simmering anger crackling beneath of the skin of the boy she knew. The teasing was gentle and laden with love, not masked barbs designed to wound and draw blood.

He wasn’t her son, and yet he very much was.

Now, sitting around a table she bought to test him and tease him, she saw her missteps. She overplayed a hand in a game of which she didn’t know the rules. His kindness evident, but his reservation forthright.

Who hurt him? What happened? Why this day in this year? Where did her real son go? How was any of this happening?

She had been married to Howard long enough to know that the world was not as it seemed, and that strange things happened in the shadows near daily. Those unknowns drove Howard, kept him up at night, and pushed him to create in the name of protection and safety.

She looked at the three of them and ached, because they needed help. And though Tony never once looked at her with the love and devotion with which his children looked at him, she would still move heaven and Earth to get him— _them_ whatever they needed.

***

“Peter, did you follow your father to MIT?”

The boy flushed a bright red in a way that Tony had been trained out of before he was 10 and nodded. “Yeah, I just got my acceptance letter.”

She noted, but was careful not to address, the fact that he had not yet started college. He looked 17 or 18, and by that age, Tony had already obtained his first degree. She didn’t think that allowing Howard to remove him from traditional schooling was wrong, but if Tony allowed his son the freedom to choose, she wondered what that said about his opinions on their choice.

“They would have to be stupid not to accept you.” The pride on her son’s face was evident, and the boy—Peter, she mentally corrected—glowed under his praise. She looked at them both and felt the deep sting of regret over not doing more to protect Tony from his father. For not being able to bridge that horrible, sweeping gulf between them.

“I think the new Robotics wing you built them might have had something to do with that.” She watched as Peter rolled his eyes at Tony, but his pleasure and love for her son shone bright behind the teasing motion, like this was a familiar exchange between them both.

“Don’t listen to him, Mom. It was merit alone that got him in. Howard didn’t pay for my entrance and I didn’t pay for Peter’s. Simple as that.” And of that she had no doubt. Tony may not have been as strict as Howard with his children, but she knew he’d never buy someone’s way somewhere if they hadn’t earned it.

“Daddy, Peter got into Columbia, too.”

Tony’s face was the picture of surprise and Proud Papa, and she watched Peter flush even brighter and shrink back the tiniest bit. “You were thinking of Columbia and _didn’t tell me_?” Maria made a mental note at the tone of Tony’s voice. There was something off about it, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. The pride and love was evident, but he was genuinely surprised.

The biggest pieces of the picture were still missing and she hadn’t puzzled them out yet.

“Yeah, I was torn between MIT’s Robotics Engineering program and Columbia’s Biomedical Engineering.”

The way Peter ducked his smile in embarrassment and joy was so soft compared to Tony at that age. He had none of the showboating Tony adopted to emulate Howard. Morgan had the Stark ‘spark’ for showmanship and Maria could see that one day she would excel at captivating an audience, but there was no artifice to either of them, and she couldn’t figure out how a Stark could survive without it. It was her thickest armor and stalwart friend.

Nothing about Peter indicated that he was ready for his role as a Stark Scion; how had Tony protected him from it for so long? Either of them? How had he kept them safe from the nest of vipers in the guise of the media? How would they survive a boardroom, let alone command one? If he were at the dining table too, Howard would have gone for Tony’s jugular if he suspected the children couldn’t or wouldn’t measure up.

Small mercies, she supposed.

“Why not both, kid? You can start with one, _cough_ MIT _cough_ ,” Peter’s grin widened at Tony’s non-subtle preference, “and then hit up the next degree right after. Or not. Maybe wait a couple of years. I didn’t, but I wish I had.” And Maria saw the pointed look even though he didn’t so much as twitch in her direction.

“The break might be nice. Play around in R&D. Cause some trouble. Go back for your second degree whenever you want. Or never. Your life is yours.”

“I don’t know,” Peter hedged, his voice light and teasing. “Maybe I should skip college altogether and become an Instagram Influencer.” Maria had no clue what Instagram meant, but she assumed it was something along the lines of a Mime in Central Park.

“Son, you can be a photographer for the Daily Bugle for all I care. As long as you’re happy.” And Maria was shocked to hear that he meant it, his voice sincere and plain. She fought to keep any surprise off her face, but she suspected Tony knew anyway. And though he didn’t say that to punish her, she felt the censure all the same. Howard would have tried to disown him if he turned his back on the business. She would have prevented it, of course, but not before they had beat each other bloody, perhaps not even metaphorically.

She mentally sighed and longed for the relationship between her two boys to be better.

“As long as it’s not with Hammer Industries, you mean,” Peter teased.

“I would disown you before you could say ‘low-quality knock-off.’ You’re forbidden from working for AIM and Oscorp, too, just in case your quest to destroy your future pivots.”

Peter rolled his eyes, like Tony’s teasing was a familiar cross he had to bear, and she wondered again at the kind of father he was. “Obviously I’m not going to work at Oscorp, and there’s not much left of AIM after Ms. Potts tore it to shreds.”

Tony’s grin widened like he was recalling a fond memory. “Damn right she did.”

Maria turned her attention to her granddaughter. The young girl had perfect posture and impeccable table manners, unlike Tony and her older brother. She held a surprising amount of poise, and Maria wondered who her mother was and what she was like.

Tony could pull of polished when forced, and maybe Peter could, too, but Morgan was already graceful in a way that Maria had no doubts must have come from her mother.

“And what about you, Miss Morgan?”

Morgan carefully placed her plastic utensils on the atrocious plastic plate like they were made of the finest china and put her hands in her lap. Maria quickly made the mental correction that while Morgan physically looked like a female version of her father at that age, she clearly favored her mother.

“I’m going to be the world’s first Mechanical Engineer CEO Princess,” she announced proudly, sitting up straighter, her small chest puffed with pride. 

“Admirable, Gadget.” Tony held his hand to his chin, consideringly. “You’re obviously going to surpass all of us, so while I haven’t a single doubt that you’ll be the world’s _best_ Mechanical Engineer CEO Princess, I think Princess Shuri may have you beat as the world’s first.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and huffed, exasperation pouring from every inch of her, and Maria hid her smile behind a napkin blotting her mouth. “Princess Shuri isn’t a CEO, Daddy.”

“She’s got you there, Dad. Shuri isn’t the head of a company and Morgs is going to take Stark Industries global.”

Morgan nodded. “And marry Princess Charlotte.”

Peter burst out laughing and Tony choked on the water he had just taken a drink of. “Not Prince George or Prince Louis?”

Maria’s breath caught as she watched her son blink, taken aback, before shrugging like it wasn’t an issue that his little girl just announced that she liked another girl. Maria didn’t know when they came from, but she suddenly prayed that it was a future much nicer than the world she lived in.

1990 would eat that sweet girl alive were she the CEO of SI. The world was full of wolves, and Maria feared for her.

“I cannot abide by their incompetence,” Morgan huffed in a faux plummy accent and made a tiny disgusted face. She was clearly parroting someone, although Maria had no idea who or what.

Peter snorted. "Mood!”

Tony pretended to consider for a second before nodding. “You know what, baby girl, that’s fair. Princess Charlotte was very nice when we met her. She should be so lucky as to be held in your high esteem.”

“I keep telling Morg she should postpone her vows until she meets Princess Sofía. I’ve heard she’s quite clever, too.” Peter’s expression equal parts adoring and like he was sharing in some sort of inside joke with her son that Maria wasn’t in party of.

“A Spanish Princess? Excellent suggestion! Morgan, listen to your brother and hold off on marrying Princess Charlotte until you meet Infanta Sofía.” And Maria could not believe that they were playing along with her wild notions. They needed to protect that poor child, not entertain her.

“What do you think, Gramma?” Morgan’s innocent question stopped Peter and Tony cold, and for the first time since she marched into her son’s apartment, she felt out of her depth.

Maria was surprised to be consulted, and placed her own plasticware down and turned her full attention to the young girl. She refused to shiver under Tony and Peter’s icy, guarded examination. She knew she had to be careful in her response for fear of upsetting the sweet child and lionizing the boys. Whatever fears she held for her granddaughter’s future, it wasn’t her place to speak up.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with either Princess, but I am curious as to why this Princess Shuri isn’t in the running. She sounds very great indeed if she is also a Mechanical Engineer.”

“She’s amazing,” Morgan’s sage nod made it look like she had considered that very question herself, but decided against the Princess in question, “but I wouldn’t want to steal her away from Petey.”

“Morgan!” Peter covered his face and looked heavenward. “ _Morgan_ , _no_.” Morgan giggled.

“Wait, what about Scary MJ? Is she no longer in the running?”

“ _Dad_.”

Morgan sighed, her entire tiny body once again seeming to rise and fall with the deepness of her vexation, and though it was over-the-top in a way that would cannibalize her in proper society, Maria found it terribly adorable. “They’re still together, but I think he is being quick to decide. Why settle for the girl next door when you can marry a princess?”

“Or prince,” Tony added, looking at Maria like he was daring her to say something.

“Or prince,” Peter agreed. “But dating MJ isn’t settling, Morg. I love her.”

“Mom’s Team Shuri, too, Peter,” Morgan responded, like that settled things. And maybe, Maria wondered, again thinking about the absent woman, it did.

Peter rolled his eyes at the same time Tony finished with, “Maybe we should stop marrying your brother off before he graduates high school?”

Maria couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that escaped when Morgan looked at Tony like she had never heard a more disappointing sentence in her entire life.

***

Almost immediately after dinner, Maria called for her driver. The children and Tony looked visibly flagged, and she needed to piece together the tidbits she gleaned into a more comprehensive picture. She gathered her things and longed for a camera to capture the night for her permanently.

She watched Peter and Morgan clear the table, bickering adorably over what food to keep and throw as they finished the task. Tony was fixing their bunks and making up their beds.

She watched the three of them and knew that she would never be able to tell Howard about any of it. The anger Tony still felt towards his father — towards both of them — was surprising and heartbreaking. She knew Howard and Tony had their struggles, as all fathers and sons do, but Howard loved Tony. Surely he knew that, right?

She turned to the kids and hugged them tightly, overwhelmed with the sudden and fierce affection she felt for both of them. She wasn’t sure how they found themselves in 1990, and they were all careful not to reveal anything after the ghastly revelation Morgan revealed when she first arrived, but she was glad to have met them and hoped to do it again.

“If you find yourselves separated from Anthony and in need of anything: help, food, a ride, money, _anything_ , please call me directly. Or come by. Or—“

“They get it,” Tony interrupted. “You can help them. I’ll make sure they have your contact information.” Maria frowned at him, reluctant to leave them. “You can see them again, Mammina,” he said softly, looking at her with a kindness and understanding that looked foreign on his face. “I won’t keep them from you.”

She nodded, because he clearly did understand in a way her 20 year old son could not. Once again, she wondered how old he was. “Anthony, walk me to my car.”

Tony opened the door like he had anticipated her request. All things considered, she supposed he probably had. This strange, new Tony was constantly surprising her. He grabbed the bag of garbage filled with the plates and food that couldn’t be returned to the fridge and motioned for her to lead the way out.

***

“Where’s my son?”

Tony turned his back to her and threw the garbage bag in the dumpster bin. The sagging slope of his shoulders and the way he avoided direct eye contact for a long moment did not bode well for his answer. After a long second, he raised his head and gave a minute shake of his head.

“I don’t know, and trust me, I want to be here as little as you want me here.” The conviction with which he said such a stupid thing wounded her, and to her unfathomable surprise, she found herself worrying more for the man in front of her than her apparently-missing child.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it. I’m not upset that you’re here, I am concerned for the you of 1990.” She cradled the sides of his face with her palms and looked into his eyes. They were they eyes of a man who had seen too much. He lived a life she knew nothing about and she made a vow right then to change that. “Please, don’t shut me out. You are still my Anthony, are you not?”

He shut his eyes, but not before she could see the pain her question caused him. “Yes, Mammina. Always.”

“They are miraculous, wonderful people, your children.” Just the simple act of thinking of his kids made her son smile, forcing her to reconcile her own personal failures when stacked next to his glowing success. “It wasn’t until tonight that I realized how deeply I failed you.”

“What?! Mom, that’s crazy. Of course you didn’t.” The more he defended her, the more it hurt, because he was right to flee the mansion earlier. Whatever happened in that moment to make him not trust her was earned, and she did that. Caused that doubt.

“No, bambino, I have. We both have. We didn’t, he didn’t,” and she was at a loss to give voice to her multitude of sins. To acknowledge the ways she should have done better. “I should have protected you more. Kept Howard from…,” and what could she have kept Howard from doing? He was the unstoppable force to Tony’s immovable object. “You’re a wonderful father. The way you love your children freely, without condition, is exceptional.”

“Of course I do.” Tony furrowed his brow. “They’re my kids.”

“Precisely, so you must understand what I talking about.”

“I don’t…?” He shook his head, genuinely confused, and Maria couldn’t understand how he could be so angry at them and not understand the roots of _why_ he was angry.

“He loves you, Anthony, but there were always strings. Conditions.” His face darkened and the step he took back was as good as an ocean between them. “I should have done more to bridge the gap between you both, but I didn’t know how. Howard is….” Howard was brilliant, and exacting, and however harsh he was with Tony, he was even harsher and crueler to himself. “And you were so…”

Which was the exact wrong thing to say, given the way Tony’s face shut down. And she had rarely been more angry with herself than she was in that moment for speaking before being able to articulate herself properly. Because it was her and Howard who had failed, not Tony, but she couldn’t express herself in any way that made sense. Not when it actually mattered.

“You did what you could.” His tone was distant, automated. Blistery cold compared to the warmth she enjoyed earlier.

She failed him again.

“Please, let me help you. Whatever you need. I am here for you, for as long as and however I am able.

“Howard has a meeting at the Pentagon tomorrow. You and Peter can come over and do whatever you need to in his lab and I will watch Morgan for you.”She didn’t have to ask if he knew how to access the lab that her son would not be able to do.

Her town-car arrived in front of Tony’s building and idled, double parked. For once, she was furious with how skilled her driver was at swiftly navigating the city’s traffic.

Still distant, still cold, Tony gave a terse nod. “I’ll let you know.”

She stepped forward to hug him, his body rigid and unyielding for several seconds before he finally softened and returned the hug. “Goodnight, mom. Thanks for the furniture and for bringing dinner.”

Maria winced. Her French gamble was as good as losing a bishop on a chessboard. “I’ll have them replace that awful couch tomorrow. I promise. I’ll make sure they deliver something comfortable, something the children can relax on.”

Tony pressed his lips together and nodded. “Thank you.” Not a forgiveness, but an acceptance.

It was enough. It would have to be.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony watched his mother’s car drive away and shook his head. His fingers itched for a cigarette, so instead of returning upstairs, he decided to take a quick detour to the bodega on the corner.

He kicked the habit in his 30’s, but Baby Tony’s body was still addicted. He decided to indulge, because all things considered, a pack of Camels was significantly less destructive to his health than a car battery to the chest.

After purchasing his poison, he knocked the packet against his the heel of his palm a half dozen times to settle the tobacco. He imagined he could hear Pepper chiding him when he finally pulled out a cigarette to light, and smiled at the thought of her.

The kids were safe in his loft, so he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and breathe. The burn of the smoke as he dragged it into his lungs grounded him and for one single moment, there was nothing more to the universe than the cigarette between his fingers and the poison in his lungs.

He continued down the sidewalk and tried not to think of those disastrous last words with his mother. Unfortunately, the more he tried to shut them out, the more they echoed, bouncing around in his head.

_“And you were so…”_

It was nice to know that some things never changed. However awful Howard was, it would always tangentially be his fault. Maria wasn’t able to stop Howard from being Howard because Tony couldn’t help himself from being a brat kid. Awesome.

His feet carried him, aimless, away from from his apartment. Head down and striding with purpose like a proper New Yorker, he suddenly found himself at the steps of Midtown School of Science and Technology. For a fraction of a second, he was startled; he had forgotten his apartment was so close to Peter’s school, since it wasn’t a blip on his radar when he was a teen. 

He stood and took the building in. It looked like a proper educational institution with the ionic columns and grand steps heralding the entrance. He briefly wondered what his life would have been like if he had attended Midtown instead of the boarding school his parents had shipped him off to as a child. He was finally old enough to understand that the value of attending a proper high school wasn’t always its educational benefit, but rather the soft skills Pepper was forever decrying about.

He wondered if Morgan would be interested in attending. The social interaction would probably be good for her, and Peter seemed to enjoy it. The education they offered was good enough to get him into both MIT and Columbia — MIT _and_ Columbia! Tony was so proud, he was fit to burst — so it might offer enough her of a challenge when it was time for her to go to high school. If she struggled with boredom, they could always supplement her classes with some college courses.

He and Pep had only just started discussing her long-term education when….

And there he goes, thinking about raising his children like he wasn’t dead. The sudden recollection was a punch to the gut. It was a small mercy that he looked 20 instead of 55, because he was staring at Midtown School like some sort of pedophile planning a kidnapping. 

He took one final, long drag from his cigarette and stubbed the cherry out against the cement brick wall he had been leaning against. At least the thoughts of his kids had distracted him from a vicious rumination cycle about Howard and Maria.

The city glowed with vibrant, golden fire, the sun finally slipping under the high-rises surrounding him. The Golden Hour in New York was always remarkable, and for a moment, he missed the views from his penthouse in Stark Tower. Missed Pepper standing beside him, sharing a glass of wine after a long day. Missed his life.

He watched for a long minute more as the light shifted from the russet fires of sunset to cool night blues and turned around to walk back to his loft.

***

When he let himself back into the apartment, the only light in the room was the flickering glow of Unsolved Mysteries. Tony couldn’t hear any sound, so he wasn’t sure if it was on mute or just on the lowest setting for Peter’s ears only.

The soft light revealed Peter and Morgan on his mattress, Morgan tucked into Peter’s side fast asleep, and Peter with his arm wrapped protectively around her.He looked over when Tony walked in and smiled. He slowly extricated himself from Morgan’s octopus arms and attempted to replace his body with a pillow for her to wrap around with only mild success. She didn’t wake, though, so it was probably a win. 

Tony’s loft didn’t have a balcony, but the window next to the kitchenette opened up to the fire escape. He and Rhodey used to sit out there for hours, talking and drinking and smoking. His loft was on the top of a 6 story building. It was high enough for the din of the city sounds to be somewhat muted, but not so high as to feel removed from the bustle of the street below.

He lifted the window as carefully and quietly as possible, and climbed out. He moved to the spot he always took when on the landing — sitting on the iron slats’ edge, where it was open for the stairs to descend. He dangled his legs in the opening and scooted over a couple of inches to make room for Peter as he climbed out to join him.

They were both silent for several minutes, listening to the honking cabs and people talking as they walked past below. Tony didn’t know how or where to start. Should he just dive right in? ‘Hey kid, you said everyone died back in 2024. You mind expounding upon that?’ ‘Hey kid, you ready to tell me about that hugely traumatic event you just experienced?’ ‘Hey kid, I’m glad you and Morgan are alive even though it sounds like no one else is. You good?’

Yeah, no. For as little tact as Tony had, even he knew that wouldn’t be an appropriate way to start a conversation that promised to be a difficult one. That aside, didn’t have the slightest idea what would be.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Peter said, his tone carefully casual to Tony’s ears. He was grateful for the silence to finally be broken, but he still didn’t know where to start.

“I don’t.” At Peter’s scrunched up nose nonverbally calling out the lie, Tony huffed a laugh. “Well, I don’t anymore, I should say. I quit in my 30’s. Unfortunately, Baby Tony is still addicted to the nicotine.” His fingers tapped against the packet hidden in his pocket. He was half-tempted to pull another one out for himself and offer one to the kid, but his Inner Pepper scolded him about inappropriate things to offer a minor.

“Baby Tony?” Peter’s sidelong glance wasn’t judging, merely curious.

Tony winced. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird, but I don’t know how else to delineate between past me, and, well, me-me.” He shrugged. “This is all so surreal. It’s hard for me to look at myself in the mirror. This isn’t my face anymore; it hasn’t been for a long time.” He still felt awkward about the de-aged elephant in the room, so he avoided eye-contact by picking at a chipped piece of paint on the iron slat below his thigh. He had half an urge to pocket the chip and test it to see if it was lead paint.

“As far as I’m concerned, I died yesterday.” At Peter’s gasp, Tony’s eyes snapped up to see his devastated expression. Red “Abort!” siren alarms sounded in his brain and he quickly tried to backtrack. “No, no, it’s okay. Dying wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It didn’t hurt, at the end. Did it hurt for you? Wait. No. Don’t answer that. I was there.” He shook his head. “ _Jesus_.”

He needed to stop. Shut up. This was supposed to be about listening to Peter and finding out what happened to him and Morgan, not rehashing Tony’s drama.

“Yesterday. Wow. I’m sorry.” Tony hated how Peter’s breath sounded shaky as he took it all in, but loved the way he leaned in closer to bump their shoulders together. “And being dusted didn’t hurt. Not the way you’re thinking. It was weird, but not _painful_ weird. I was scared more than anything. But Mr. Stark, you have to know, I was so relieved you were there. It helped, knowing I wasn’t alone.”

Peter looked down the street and Tony watched how the bright red and yellow light of the neon sign of the Chinese restaurant across the street bathed him in Iron Man’s colors. It was anathema, because losing him still felt like a personal failure. “At the end,” Peter started again, so softly it was difficult to hear. “It was the absence of feeling, I think. And then, just. Nothing.”

Tony’s shame stole his breath and choked him. He felt his eyes water and had to look away. It was as if those 5 years hadn’t happened, and the kid that he was supposed to keep safe and protect was falling to ash in his arms all over again.

“Stop that.” Peter nudged his shoulder again. Harder this time. “You saved me. You saved all of us.”

“Technically, Bruce did.” Peter rolled his eyes in such an exaggerated, dramatic way it looked like he lifted the move from Tony himself, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Alright. Point made. But enough about Purple Sauron. I want to talk about how you and the future Princess of Wales ended up here. You mentioned the Wizard, some buildings exploding, and the worst Christmas since John McClane visited Nakatomi Plaza. _What the hell happened?_ ”

“I don’t know.” Peter leaned back and scrubbed his hands over his face before blowing out a loud exhale. “I really don’t know. One minute we were the penthouse enjoying Christmas dinner and the next minute, Manhattan suddenly looked like that scene in Inception when the dream collapses.”

Tony blinked, not sure if Peter was speaking literally or metaphorically. “The scene where everything’s sideways and upside down and it’s like bizarro reality?”

“No,” he started, and Tony watched as Peter moved like he was going to fish his phone out of his pocket, and then froze, mid-motion. At the aborted gesture, he let out a loud, agonized groan. “And it is unbelievably hard to not just whip out my phone and pull up the video on YouTube for you,” he burst out, answering Tony’s unasked question.

“The tech withdrawal is real. I feel you, kid.” They shared a sympathetic, knowing nod. At least Peter had his phone, even if he couldn’t use it. Tony’s was probably still….

Well. Some things were better not thought about.

“In Inception, there’s this scene when a dream is collapsing, and stuff just starts coming down and falling apart. It’s, like, apropos of nothing in the dream world. But this wasn’t.” He shook his head. “Obviously, it wasn’t a dream.”

Peter gesticulated with his hands as if that could somehow make Tony understand, but it was all pretty hard to fathom. “Things — buildings, I mean. Like, the dining table and furniture didn’t start to disintegrate or anything, but maybe if I had stuck around it would have? I don’t know. Buildings just started coming down. There was no explosion, no earthquake, nothing that would make the world suddenly fall apart, but everywhere I turned, everywhere I looked, everything. _Everything_.”

Tony sat there and tried to process what the kid was actually trying to say and had the gruesome realization that when he said everyone died, he must have witnessed it happen. “Did you notice if it was every building that was affected, or just the ones in Manhattan?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…,” Peter started trembling and breathing harder. Tony quickly wrapped his arm around his shoulders and pulled him as close as he could. “I just, one minute we were at the dinner table, and the next minute all of the glass in the penthouse shattered inwards like it might have if there was a percussive blast. But there was no blast.” He started shifting, clearly uncomfortable, and Tony wished he could make this part easier on him, but he didn’t know how. “Rebar and concrete started falling. The floor beneath May and Pepper….” He trailed off, and Tony didn’t need or want him to finish that sentence.

Tony had seen enough buildings collapse to know what it entailed. It was jarring to think about Stark Tower being as affected as the rest of New York’s structures, because he reinforced the building’s reinforcements. It could roll with an earthquake, contain a minor blast within levels, and hold up against a tsunami. Hell, he designed it to withstand an alien invasion and come out structurally intact, so if something had caused it to collapse….

“Happy was trapped. There was a piece of,” he squeezed his eyes shut and made a strangled noise. “He was alive, but it was too late. I couldn’t,” His voice shook and when he opened his eyes again, they were glassy and unseeing. He gazed at the traffic below. “He was screaming at us to run. Over and over. Begging us to get out.” Tears fell from Peter’s eyes, and Tony could scarcely breathe, he was so horrified by it all. He grabbed the hand that was closest and squeezed, but that wasn’t nearly enough.

Peter looked at him and gave a watery smile. “Morgan was curled up under the table, screaming and crying, so I grabbed her and held on to her as tightly as I could without hurting her. I tried to shield her from seeing what was happening, but there was so much. I don’t know how much I helped.”

“You’re the reason she’s alive today, so I think that qualifies as helping a great deal. Don’t doubt that for a single second. My baby girl,” he started, and he couldn’t even finish because he imagined her falling and falling and falling with Pepper and May. “You saved her, Pete.”

Peter shook his head and continued on like Tony hadn’t said anything. “I fastened my web slingers as fast as I could to jump, but right before I could, Dr. Strange appeared next to us, his portal appearing straight out of thin air.”

“What did he,” Tony croaked, struggling to form words around the boulder lodged in his throat, and tried again. “What did he say?”

“That the universe had a way of tying up loose ends.” Peter spat, his voice harsh and angry. Tony didn’t blame him. That cryptic bullshit would have incensed him, too. “That was it. Nothing else. I couldn’t even ask him what the hell that was supposed to mean, since the Empire State Building chose that moment to light up like every floor was made from C4 instead of cement.

“I leapt out of the other side of the Tower to get us away from the blast radius. Before I could change the trajectory of our fall with my webbing, Dr. Strange opened a portal right in front of us. The next thing I know, we’re landing on the cushy lawn of some bougey mansion like nothing had happened. At first, I didn’t even realize it was your house; Morgan was the one who recognized it.”

“I think, Pete,” he started slowly, horrific scenarios flashing through his mind of what may have befallen his children had they been forced to stay, “That Doctor Who may have Deus Ex Machina’d your life.” He paused, his mind racing with what could have possibly lead to such wide destruction and coming up blank, “That sounds like Infinity Stone levels of destruction.”

“It couldn’t have been. Captain Rogers returned them all.” He paused, then mumbled so quietly Tony would have missed it were he not hyper focused on the teen, “ _And never came back_.”

“Wait, _what_? Rogers is _dead_?” And somehow that threw him more than the fabric of reality collapsing in upon itself. Tony didn’t like the guy, but he didn’t wish death upon him.

“No, he just decided to go back to the 1940’s and leave everyone in the future behind.”

“Wow,” he said simply, not sure how else to respond to that new bit of information. For the second time in an hour, Tony was completely thrown by what he was hearing. “Yeah, nope. Putting in a pin in that one for later.” He refocused on the problem at hand. “So not the Infinity Stones, but maybe something as powerful as them?”

Peter shrugged, heavy and sad. “I don’t know. It could still be the Infinity Stones, I guess. Maybe someone else assembled them. I don’t know if the event was isolated to New York, or if it was happening everywhere like the Blip.”

That poor kid. Tony was once again reminded of how much tragedy had befallen him.

“I don’t know either, Peter, but I promise you that I’ll do everything in my power to figure it out and fix it, okay?” He tugged Peter in again for another side-hug and pet his upper arm in something he hoped was comforting, but felt woefully inadequate. “Fixing things is kind of my speciality. I figured out time travel for you once and I can do it again. Only this time it’ll be better, because we’ll be doing it together, okay?”

“I know you will. But what if you,” Peter started, and then was silent a long moment. He sighed and looked at Tony with the saddest look he had ever seen on his face. “I’m scared, Dad. Scared you’ll fix it, and that I’ll be forced to lose you again.”

Tony was scared of that, too. Because he was dead and his children weren’t. Because he was 55 and looked 20. Because he wasn’t sent here by Doctor Who, and there was no Tardis that could save him.

“I’m scared, too,” he confessed. “But you know what? However you came to be here with me, I’m grateful for every second of it. I know it’s not forever, but right now? Having you and Morgan here is everything. I love you and your sister more than anything in this universe.”

“Even more than your lab?” Peter asked, in what Tony took as an attempt to make light of his confession, but he was having none of it.

“Yes, of course. _Always_. That’s why I can’t live with ‘what if’s’, because I have you now, and I am incredibly grateful for that fact. We’ll cross the next bridge when we get to it, okay?”

Peter nodded and allowed himself to settle against Tony’s side. He was warm, and solid, and real in a way that Tony had scarcely allowed himself to hope for before the final battle. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Tony let the sounds of the city wash over him.

He didn’t even know where to start what Peter told him. The implications of New York falling apart for no discernible reason didn’t bode well for either of his kids when he sent them back to 2024. Especially if May, Pepper, and Happy…. Returning them would be fixing a symptom, not the problem itself.

The time travel portion of it all was easy — the reality falling apart and killing everyone bit? Not so much.

And his poor little girl. He didn’t want to think what it was like for her to witness her mother get killed in front of her. At least he died ‘off camera.’Did she understand the seriousness and implications of what she had seen? He hoped not — especially not if he could fix it. The event itself sounded traumatic enough, let alone losing her mother right in front of her face. It was untenable.

A loud horn pierced the night and a man below them screamed, “Hey, I’m walkin’ ‘ere!” in a thick Brooklyn accent. Peter huffed an amused snort and Tony could feel the the motion before he could hear it, making him smile. The accent made him think of Rogers and what Peter had revealed earlier.

“So let me get this straight,” he started, choosing his tone carefully so Peter would know he was shifting topics away from anything heavy. “After all that drama of giving 117 countries the middle finger and moving to the jungle with his assassin boyfriend, Rogers just peaced out and went back the ’40’s?” Tony was completely and utterly baffled. “I can honestly say, of everything that’s happened? I didn’t see that one coming. Did he at least take the Manchurian Candidate with him?”

“Nope. He was the one tasked with returning all of the stones to their proper times, so when it was time for him to reappear, he just…didn’t. I wasn’t there for it, but according to Pepper, he was sitting on a bench nearby, older than old, and handed Mr. Falcon his shield.”

If Tony could have, he’d have taken a shot to wash that down. “No, wait. I think I need a minute. You’re telling me that after mourning Barnes for 5 years during the snap and however long _before_ the snap, he gets him back and then says, ‘Byeeeee’ and goes back to the good ‘ole days? And then proceeds to _not_ rescue him from Hydra?” Tony leaned back, agog. A feather could have knocked him over. “What the fuck. I mean, sincerely, _what the fuck?_ ”

“Right?! Yeah, I don’t know. According to Mr. Sargent Barnes, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it sounded kinda like one of those things adults say when they’re trying to convince themselves instead of those around them.“ Peter shrugged. “He and Mr. Falcon are partnered up and running missions, though. They seem to be doing fine, from what little I know.

“According to Happy, Mr. Sargent Barnes comes by and sees Pepper sometimes. Happy thinks he does it because of the guilt he feels over what he did to your parents. I’m not so sure, though. I think he’s just short on friends, and Pepper is one of the best people a person can be friends with.”

Tony couldn’t stop the wide smile. “Yeah, she sure is. And hey, mystery solved for me of how Morgan found out about Howard and Maria’s murder. Unfortunately, her sneakiness is inherited. I gave Jarvis more than a few good scares when I was her age.” He nudged his knee against Peter’s, still grinning. “It sounds like you’ve been spending some time with Pepper and the Harriet the Spy. I’m glad.”

Peter ducked his head, but Tony could see the blush crawling up his neck and sheepish smile. “I’ve never had a sister before. I like to spend as many weekends as I can with her. She’s so smart, Mr. Stark. You’d be so proud. She’s going to be amazing when she grows up.”

“She’s already amazing. You both are,” he made sure to add. “You’ve always inspired me, kid. Getting into MIT _and_ Columbia? Amazing. Just promise me that whatever you choose, you choose it because it’s what you want. Not because you think it’s what someone else would want for you.”

His head was still ducked sheepishly, but he nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

“I mean it. I don’t care what you do, as long as you’re happy.”

“I know,” he answered before letting out a big yawn. He turned to look at Tony, and despite how tired he looked, he looked as decent as one could look who’d just been through the metaphorical (and maybe even literal) end of the world. “I’m leaning towards MIT, though. We both know you’ll haunt me if I don’t.” Peter’s grin was sly, and Tony huffed a laugh. He shrugged and gave Peter a ‘what else would you expect from me’ quirked grin.

“Obviously,” Tony said simply. He stretched and moved to stand up, not hating how much easier that was as a 20 year old. He held his hand out to help Peter up, even though it wasn’t necessary. “MIT is superior in every possible way. And after you get your PhD at Columbia, you can build and expand SI’s biomedical division. So much untapped possibility with prosthetics and other medical equipment. It’ll be amazing.”

“You have everything planned out, huh?” Peter rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress his smile. “You’re such helicopter parent.”

“Absolutely. It’s something I take pride in. Now come on, Spider-Boy. Comfy beds await. I think we’re both tied for the longest day on record. Let’s plan on returning to the mansion tomorrow to get some numbers running on Howard’s equipment to make sure we use the correct frequency and algorithm when setting the GPS. Now that I know that Capsicle is somewhere living his civilian life, we’ll use his Temporal GPS to help you and Maguna get back home.”

After crawling back into the loft, Tony looked at Morgan curled up peacefully on his mattress and decided against carrying her to the bunk bed his mother had delivered. He turned off the TV, lifted the sheet, and slid in next to her. A few seconds later he heard Peter climb in on the other side of her. He closed his eyes and the last thought he had before falling asleep was that he hoped he woke up the next morning.

***

The next morning, Tony and Peter were standing at bathroom mirror dabbing shaving cream on their cheeks. Tony looked at their reflection and suddenly realized that Peter was both bigger and broader than him. It was such a shock, he literally froze, his razor poised next to his cheek.

“Is it normal for teenagers to grow several inches overnight?”

Tony watched Peter furrow his brow in the mirror, confused, until he took in both of their reflections side-by-side, presumably noticing that Tony was embarrassingly smaller than himself. His sudden, wide grin was counterproductive to the metaphorical task at hand, which was shaving without cutting oneself. And also offensive. Deeply, morally offensive.

“I don’t know. Is it normal to shrink several inches overnight? I think your arms are smaller than mine were before the spider bite, and that’s saying something.”

“Ugh. Can you not?” Tony pretended to be above it and resumed the task of scraping shaving cream off of his face, but was suddenly hyper aware of how small his upper arms looked. “This is too weird to fathom. I mean, I always knew you were going to be taller than me in the end, but I object to the way it happened. I disagree with everything in the mirror.”

“Honestly, it’s not just the fact that you’re 20, although let’s be real, you look like I did at 14— 14, Mr. Stark! — how are you still so short?” Tony huffed in annoyance, mumbling indignities under his breath. “It’s the lack of facial hair. I can’t wrap my mid around it. Tony Stark without his signature Van Dyke. What happened to it?”

Tony blushed. And then grumbled. And then blushed even more, feeling more embarrassed than he’d been in probably decades. “I can’t grow it yet,” he mumbled.

“You can’t…grow it yet?” Peter looked so genuinely confused that Tony prayed for a swift, merciful death to avoid the conversation he saw coming. “Can’t you just stop shaving for a week and go from there?”

“Thank you, Underoos, for Beard 101.” Tony squeezed the bridge of his nose, wincing. “Can _you_ grow a full beard?”

Peter shook his head. “No?”

“Yeah, well, neither can I. Not for a couple more years, anyway. Obviously I shave daily, but it’s, uh, it’s not full enough for anything more than patchy scruff.”

“I thought that once we turned, like, 18, it would get fuller.” He still looked earnestly confused, and Jesus, this line of questioning was both precious and embarrassing. And also sad, since Peter didn’t have a father figure to sit him down and tell him about shaving or other important facts growing up. At least Tony had Jarvis.

“You try growing a beard as thick and luxurious as Cap and then we’ll talk.” May did as well as she could, so Tony was careful not to draw attention to any gaps in his knowledge — he just tried to fill them in as smoothly and nonchalantly as possible 

“But actually,” he continued, while scraping shaving cream off his cheek more slowly than a moment ago, letting Peter watch and then mimic the motions without calling attention to what was happening. “Being able to grow a beard like Cap’s under the age of 20 is very unusual. It’s normal for facial hair to thicken and get darker as we age. Some men have patchy beards until they're late 20’s, and some can’t grow one at all.” Tony was careful to keep it casual and shrugged lightly. “It’s all pretty normal, so wherever you fall on that spectrum is totally fine.”

Peter seemed to absorb that and nodded thoughtfully. “Why the Van Dyke?”

Tony scraped the razor over the edge of his jaw and pointedly arched his brow. “As you so helpfully pointed out mere moments ago, I look younger than you do. I needed something to try and mitigate that. It’s hard running a Fortune 500 company when you look like you shouldn’t even be out of high school.”

“Huh. That’s fair.” Once they finished, Peter rubbed damp towel over his face to clear away any leftover shaving cream. Tony watched, curious, as he stroked his freshly shaved chin in the mirror and examined the line of his jaw.

“Close enough for you, kid? If not, I can teach you how to use a straight razor.”

“No!” Peter balked. “This is fine. I’m trying to figure out what my signature look should be. What do you think?”

Tony looked at Peter’s reflection in the mirror with a fake intensity and pretended to think about it deeply for a couple beats. “Duck Dynasty.”

Peter shoved him to the side as he laughed. “You’re such a jerk!”

Tony laughed and shook his head, his heart fond and light, and smiled. “You realize that my inability to grow facial hair is privileged information, kiddo. If I find out that you’ve shared it on the TikTok or whatever app you Gen Z kids are using back in 2024, I will tell MJ that you can't grow facial hair, chest hair, or any kind of hair other than the mop on your head."

“ _The TikTok?_ Oh my god, Dad, do I need to go get you a walker?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t know what The Youths use for their social media platform in 2024. I remember tweeting some things, arguing with Pepper over what I could and couldn’t post on Instagram, and wanting to attack all of Facebook’s servers and destroy it from the inside. That’s it.”

Peter looked at Tony with despair. “I am so embarrassed by you.”

“Good!” Tony exclaimed, scrubbing Peter’s recently washed hair, messing it up. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

***

Morgan was finishing up the apple slices and eggs Tony made with the ingredients from his Mother’s hamper when he returned to the main room. She didn’t look like a child recently traumatized by watching her mother fall to her death, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Especially not with a child like Morgan.

He knew he needed to ask her what she remembered from the Christmas from Hell, but the breakfast table wasn’t exactly ideal. He instead walked over to her and kissed the crown of her head while shamelessly stealing the last slice of her apple. He popped it in his mouth as she playfully hit his upper arm and shouted, “Bad manners!”

Tony laughed and grabbed another apple, cutting in open for himself, and handed her the first slice. “Unfortunate, but true. And if you’re not opposed to it, your Nonna Maria can tell you all about my appalling behavior when I was your age today at my childhood home. What do you think, Munchkin? Is that something you’d like to do?”

“Really?” Morgan’s eyes grew bright with shining excitement. Tony, feeling unexpectedly verclempt in the face of his daughter’s excitement over the prospect of seeing her grandmother, nodded. “Do you think she can teach me Italian, too?”

“Absolutely. If you’re not speaking like a native by this afternoon, I’ll be sure and have a firm conversation with her about expectations.” Morgan nodded sagely, like she thought it was completely normal to learn an entire language in the span of an afternoon. Tony shook his head and smiled. “You’re sure don’t mind spending a couple of hours with her? Petey and I need to use my father’s lab to do some math equations to get you back to your mom, okay?”

He said Pepper’s name as a test to see how she’d respond, but she didn’t take the bait. Instead, her eyes got wide and excited at the prospect of a new lab. “Can I come to the lab, too?”

“Why don’t Peter and I check it out first to make sure it’s safe for kiddos, then we’ll reassess. Howard wasn’t in the habit of sharing, so it’s not like set-up we have at home.”

“But how did you and your dad use the lab together if he didn’t share? Sharing is important.”

It was asked so innocently, that Tony didn’t now how to explain to her that no, they didn’t, because Howard didn’t want him there. There were no patient, loving tutelages of how to work and invent. Only scraps of what Howard was willing to throw his way when he was feeling generous with his patience and time. He handed her another slice of apple, like that could somehow negate Howard’s lack of sharing.

“You’re absolutely right, Principessa. Sharing is important, which is why I did the best I could to make sure you and Peter were always welcome. But Howard doesn’t have the same rules for his lab, so Peter and I need to make sure he doesn’t know that we’re there. It’ll has to be a secret, or he’ll get mad.” He held his finger up to his lips.

She finished chewing and nodded solemnly. “I understand, Daddy.”

“I know you do, Baby. You’re my clever girl.”

***

The drive back to the mansion was no less tense than it had been the first time, even though the circumstances were different. When he called his mother to let her know they were coming over, she assured him Howard would be in DC for the next couple of days and that there was no danger of him coming home. Still, Tony couldn’t shake the fear of seeing him.

She assured him Jarvis was out, too. Which he hadn’t asked her to do, but was relieved to hear, anyway. He forgot how eerily perceptive his mother could be, especially when he wasn’t expecting it. He still wasn’t ready to untangle how he felt about potentially seeing Jarvis again, the man who was, for all intents and purposes, his actual father.

He wanted to. He just. Wasn’t ready yet.

This time, when he pulled up beside the garage, Maria was already outside to greet them. Morgan raced out to give her a big hug, which she accepted gracefully, if not gratefully. She pulled Peter into a tight hug as well, when he was close enough to reel in. Peter accepted the attention with a sheepish joy and a slight reddening of his cheeks.

She knew better than to pull him in for a hug, instead kissing his cheeks and whispering, “Sono così sollevato che tu sia qui, Bambino.”

Tony definitely did not blush either, and rubbed the back of his head and looked away. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Daddy said you can teach me Italian this afternoon.” Morgan reached up to grasp Maria’s hand and started to tug her towards the front door.

Maria eyed Tony sharply, but looked at Morgan with considerable more softness. “I’m not sure if I can teach you the whole of the language in the span of the afternoon, but we can certainly make a good dent on starting.”

Morgan frowned. “Daddy said that you’d teach me to speak like a native by this afternoon, and that if you don’t, he’ll have a firm conversation with you about expectations.”

Tony didn’t expect to hear his words parroted back so directly, and couldn’t help the snort that escaped when he did.

“Oh he did, did he.” Maria replied, and Tony mentally applauded the strength it must have taken her not to shoot him a foul look. “Well, then you’d better pay close attention.”

“Nonna,” Morgan began gravely, giving her the flattest look he’d ever seen. “You worry about the Italian, I’ll worry about the rest of it.”

Peter started laughing and Tony couldn’t help but laugh himself. Maria didn’t know it, but that line was pure Pepper. Tony hadn’t been around many kids beyond Harley and his own, but Morgan had to be the most self-possessed 5-year-old he’d ever seen. He didn’t know how she could be anything else, when she was 50% Pepper and 50% him.

“We shall see,” Maria said lightly, shooting him a sharp look over her head. There was enough fondness in the look, so he knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but still. He shrugged shamelessly, pleased that Maria Stark had apparently met her match in the form of a 5-year-old little girl.

He wished she could have met Pepper. She would have adored her.

When they entered the foyer, Maria stopped. “I trust you remember the way to your father’s lab?”

“All three of them, even.” He smirked. Baby Tony only knew about two. “We’ll be in the one next to the Caravaggio.”

Maria nodded like he was idiot for assuming that she’d think he wouldn’t know about all of Howard’s labs. Which, fair, since she automatically assumed he’d know how to access the labs — which he did — obviously he’d know about all of them. Ugh. She was always two steps ahead of him, even now. She quirked her lips like she knew what was going through his mind.

“If I don’t see you boys for lunch, I’ll have something brought down.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you!” He was taken aback by the thoughtfulness of her recognizing that he had precious little time to use Howard’s lab, and smiled genuinely. “Can you have Maddalena bring down a plate of sandwiches in an hour as well?”

If Maria were surprised by the request, she didn’t show it. She merely nodded and left, guiding Morgan out beside her.

“This house is insane,” Peter whispered when they were finally alone. “Like, this house is a lot even by your standards.”

Tony tried to look at the Foyer from Peter’s perspective. The black and white marble checkerboard flooring, the doric columns, the ostentatious grecian statues. Yeah, he can see why Peter was overwhelmed. It wasn’t really his or Pepper’s style. Looking at it now, he can see why he trended towards Billionaire Minimalist when he designed his own spaces in Malibu and The Tower. Stark Mansion was so overdone that he went in the extreme opposite direction.

“Howard and Maria are,” He trailed off as he looked at a painting so ugly, he had forgotten about it entirely. It was so bad, he’d wiped it clean from his memory and stared at it anew like it was the first time. “They’re why the term ’nouveau riche’ is meant as an insult. No taste.”

Peter came to stand next to Tony and tilted his head at the painting, as if that would suddenly make it less hideous. He frowned. “I miss the lake house.”

Tony tore his eyes away from the awful painting and smiled at Peter. “Me too, bud, me too.”

“Thank God for Pepper, you mean.”

Tony laughed. “Precisely.”

Tony slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders and guided him through the mansion to Howard’s main engineering and computing lab, making sure to walk slower than usual so Peter could gawk. Occasionally, Tony would point out a piece and give him a tidbit or two about it. He felt a bit like a museum guide, but given the house’s ostentatious decor, that wasn’t too far off.

When they finally reached the lab, it almost felt anticlimactic. Not that he was expecting the room to explode or anything, but it felt strangely dark without Howard’s looming presence. He lifted his hand to input the code into the lock, when he suddenly registered what the code _was_.

04287076887

Tony’s mind reeled. One one hand, Howard was a bully on even his nicest days and treated him poorly whenever they were face to face. And then on the other one, he would leave videos for him calling him his greatest creation and secret messages that only he would understand. Like the date Howard met Howard Potts.

_“You are my greatest creation.”_

_I remember meeting you as a man before you were born._

When had he figured it out? Tony had never known he knew, and he wouldn’t ever have known had he not been thrown into this very moment. Howard had the most infuriating, backwards way of saying ‘I love you’ without ever uttering the words.

“You know I love you, right?”

Peter’s head whipped around so fast, he would have given himself whiplash if he weren’t enhanced. “Yes. Of course I do. I love you too.”

Tony nodded. He did know. And looked at the keypad and frowned. “I promise to never leave you cryptic bullshit notes that imply I love you instead of just saying the words.” Even though he was clearly confused, Peter stayed silent, maybe sensing that Tony was going to explain. “The code to Howard’s main lab. It’s 04287076887. April 28th, 1970. The day Rogers and I visited Camp Lehigh to get the Tesseract. 76887. The numerical code for Potts.”

It would have been funny if it weren’t so heartbreaking. “Howard caught me when I was grabbing the Tesseract, though thankfully missed the actual theft. I was so surprised, I said his name. He assumed I was introducing myself instead of using his name, because for all he knew, we were perfect strangers.” Tony rolled his eyes, feeling nothing but fond exasperation. “I scrambled to come up with a last name and used the first one I could think of — Potts. We chatted on our way back to the surface. He was all worked up because Mom was so pregnant that his breathing annoyed her, so we talked about being a parent.”

Peter looked at him, stunned, and yeah, Tony got that. It was surreal for him, too. He shrugged. “I don’t know when or how he figured out it was me. I don’t think I did anything to give myself away. I made sure to be friendly without being too friendly, but I don’t know. This lab code? It means he knew and he left it as a note to future-me.”

He stared at the touchpad for several moments, wondering if this changed his desire to see Howard. He liked the man he met at Camp Lehigh. Could maybe even share a drink with him. If Howard knew — and that code meant he did — that changed things.

Peter touched his shoulder, grounding him with a firm squeeze. “I can see what you mean. Most parents would just say I love you.”

Tony snorted. “Not Howard Stark.”

“No, but Howard Potts does.” Peter smiled.

“Yeah, he does.”

He forced his hand not to shake as he punched in the code, the green light and welcoming beep of an accepted code more gratifying that he expected. “Well,” he said, pushing the door, “Here we go.”

When they stepped in, it didn’t light up automatically like Tony’s did, so he quickly felt around the wall for the switch. When he flipped it, the room looked more sterile and unused than he remembered. Howard had a stack of notes, schematics, and some disassembled fragments of a Stark bomb’s wire harness that Tony knew would eventually make up the power of the programming panel to prep the bomb’s ignition.

Tony hoped the fragments were obscure enough that Peter wouldn’t recognize the anatomy of a bomb.

“Woah,” Peter exhaled, in awe. He looked around the room with wide-eyed fascination. “It’s like stepping into the past! Everything is so archaic and outdated here!”

Tony slid his eyes over to Peter in disbelief. “Are you… Really, Pete? Howard Stark’s lab is what drives home the fact that you’re nearly 35 years in the past?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Mr. Stark! I can’t be held liable for my actions. I’ve just time traveled!” He poked at a large, vintage spectrometer and jumped back when it moved.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You do realize that this is incredibly advanced for 1990, right? Everything in here is state of the art. MIT’s labs aren’t even as good.”

Peter’s eyes go wide like dinner plates. “ _This_? Big yikes! Everything is so, so…” He picked up a keyboard and made a disgusted face. “ _Old_.”

“Lord save me from the Gen Z kids,” Tony preached heavenward. “Yes, of course it’s old. It is, and I am really starting to worry after your mental state here, Sonny Boy, 1990.”

Peter shrugged and grinned, unconcerned. “I know it is. Really, I do. But objectively speaking, this is the first major difference I’ve seen. Everything else is weird, but like, explainable? Old phones? No wifi? Weird fashion? You can drive to rural Pennsylvania and see the same thing. But a Stark lab looking like it’s from the Jurassic era? That’s heavy.”

“Come on, this has got to be Cretaceous at least.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled and booted up one of the larger towers and waited patiently for it to whirl to life.

“You don’t get it, Dad. When I saw your lab for the first time, I thought I had stepped into the future. There were holograms everywhere, virtual keyboards, robots and FRIDAY. Your lab was like OZ, only better because it was real.” He looked around and made a disgusted face. “Even Midtown’s labs are better than this.”

Tony shook his head fondly, feeling chuffed over how Peter described the space most personal to him — his home inside of his home. “With their tuition? I should hope so. But I bet Queens High’s labs aren’t much better.”

The glare Peter sent him indicated he knew he was right, but refused it concede the point.

“Alright, alright, quit your griping and come over here and help me write a program in DOS to help identify the diminishing vector algorithm we need to program the Temporal GPS. You’re comfortable using equipment this old?”

Peter huffed and gave him a Tony Stark Eye Roll™. “You know I am — you’ve seen the equipment and computers I used to have in my bedroom.” He paused, then furrowed his brow. “Also, vectors don’t diminish? They can reduce, that’s basic algebra, but they can’t diminish.”

“They do in time travel.” He grinned hugely, excited to teach him. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

Tony grabbed a legal note pad and proceeded to draw out the fundamental mathematical basics of time travel.

“So cool,” Peter breathed, reverently.

And yeah, it was.

***

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks and gratitude to the wonderful, kind readers who have left such amazing, thoughtful comments. Thanks to each and every reader for taking time out of your day and dipping your toes in this pond with me. This fic is like my refuge against the world today, and I am so very lucky to share in it with each and every one of you. Thank you. <3


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